


And He Wished Upon a Star

by SPNxBookworm, WinchesterPooja (chronic_potterphile)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Brotherly Love, Canonical Character Death, Community: deancasbigbang, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Nudity, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sam is a Main Character too, Severe PTSD, Sex, Shower Sex, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Suicide, TFW story, Top Dean, Torture, Violence, Weddings, dystopian au, epic love story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 82,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNxBookworm/pseuds/SPNxBookworm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_potterphile/pseuds/WinchesterPooja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an ugly world ruled by demons where humans are enslaved and hunted and killed, Dean must find his way through blood, loss and power. In this journey he realises that whether eternal or ephemeral, beauty can be found anywhere and everywhere. Sometimes it's in the laughter of his brother and sometimes in the warmth of his father's eyes. Other times, Dean remembers his mother, and how she always told him that all his wishes could come true one day, if he just thought of it hard enough.</p><p>Eventually when everything starts to crumble beneath his feet, Dean is forced into a desperate fight to keep his family together. And in this journey he finds another thing that he never expected to: love in the arms of an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When His World Broke He Wished Upon a Star

**Author's Note:**

> **Acknowledgements** : 
> 
> Hello there! There’s quite a few people we’d like to thank, without whom this big bang wouldn’t be the same. 
> 
> Our artist [venuscas](http://venuscas.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much for claiming our fic and giving it a chance. The artwork you shared with us is amazing. 
> 
> Our badass beta [Allison/DarcyDelaney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyDelaney) without whom this fic would be a mess. She is such a sweetheart and gave us the most amazing feedback and really helped this fic become what it is. Also, thanks for flailing right along with us while reading the fic ;) 
> 
> Our awesome girl [Naila/iamremy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy) who is our biggest supporter and the most amazing friend. Thanks for listening to us flail and rant to you. Thank you for all the awesome feedback and late night squee sessions. ;) You are so freaking amazing, babe! We love you so so so much! <3 
> 
> And finally, the great mods over at DeanCasBigBang on LJ on organizing this every year. You guys are absolute heroes! 
> 
> **Authors Note:**
> 
> Well, there you have it! Quite a few people but this fic wouldn’t be what it is without them :) We’d been planning this for months and we’ve worked really hard on it so we really hope you all enjoy! This fic is technically both our first attempt at AU, although WinchesterPooja's account will now beg to differ. However, we hope this does well! Any and all feedback is welcome. :)
> 
> Trigger warnings are mentioned in the tags, please read them carefully. We hope our take on these idiots in love appeals to you! Thank you!

# 

# 1\. When His World Broke He Wished Upon a Star

 

Dean Winchester is almost four years old when he first realises that Mommy and Daddy are afraid of something. He hops off his bed, smoothes over the Batman sheets, and pads across the corridor, his eyes widening as he tries to make out what Mommy and Daddy are fighting about. They've been like this a while, and Dean is getting scared. But it's just shortly after that when he realises that his parents aren't really angry. They're scared, too.

"John," Mommy says, voice muffled by the door separating them and Dean, "I can't let anything happen to them."

"Neither can I," Daddy replies. "I love all of you, Mary, but we gotta do this."

"It's too risky!"

"Is it? Because I think this is worse. That way, we'll at least have other people around us. It's safer."

"And how do we get there?" Mommy asks him. "How do we get there without the demons tracking us? It's a day's drive from here. We can't take a train, or fly."

Demons. Dean freezes. Mommy and Daddy told him demons are bad. Dean doesn't know who they are, just that they're bad, and that he can't go outside to play much because of them.

"We don't have to go that far. I've heard there's one in Lebanon," says Daddy.

"But you aren't sure?"

"No, we could drive, and—"

"John…"

"Mary, is this the life you want for them?" Daddy asks her with a sigh. "Dean's already going crazy in here. He's an energetic kid. He needs to go outside more. We can't do this to him. And we can't do this to the baby."

 _Baby_? Dean creeps closer, putting his ear on the door. What baby?

"If we leave," Daddy continues, "they can both lead better lives. They can get educated, be normal, and live in a little less fear. They'll have friends, Mary."

"I know," Mommy replies, "I know what you're saying but – but if I lose anyone… John… I…" Her voice breaks, and there's a sniff, and then a rustle. Dean releases a breath, and continues to listen. Mommy and Daddy sound afraid and Mommy sounds like she's crying. Why? What's going on? Will they be mad if they knew Dean has been listening all this while?

Dean is about to leave, when Daddy speaks. "So, do you wanna tell Dean that he's going to be a big brother, or should I?"

Big brother?

Dean listens to the words, feels them ring in his ears, and suddenly his eyes are filling with tears as he lets out a loud wail. The door opens, and his parents spill out, Daddy scooping Dean up and holding him close, with whispers of, "What is it, buddy?" but Dean doesn't reply.

Because he doesn't want to share Mommy and Daddy with anyone. Even if it means that he gets to be a big brother.

**~o~**

"Baby, look at that."

Dean follows Mommy's hand with his eyes, as she points towards the sky. It's evening; a part of the day that Dean really likes, because Mommy allows him to come out of the house and play outside for a while. Not for long, though. And Mommy is always sitting on the porch steps, keeping an eye on Dean.

Dean doesn't have many friends. Everyone he knew has moved away from the street, and the whole place is empty and quiet and boring. Even the place where Daddy gets their food is very far away, as is Daddy's work.

Daddy fixes cars. Mommy is always nervous when he leaves home to work, and is only happy when he returns. Then they sit together and eat, because Mommy won't eat until Daddy is home, and sometimes, they will drive to the hospital to check on the baby with the doctors.

Mommy's gotten really big now. When Dean smooshes his cheek against her tummy sometimes, he can feel the baby kicking at him, and it makes him giggle. He still isn't sure he wants to share his mommy and daddy with anyone, but maybe it would be cool to finally have someone to play with, and for all of his life, like Mommy and Daddy remind Dean.

Presently, Mommy puts a hand on Dean's chin and tilts his face upwards, towards the sky. "Look at that," she whispers, her nose coming once to press against his cheek, and making him smile.

It's a star. A _very_ bright star. And Dean thinks it's cool because—

"But is…is not night, Mommy!" he explains, as he looks at it in awe.

"Exactly," Mommy replies. "And that's why it's special. Just like you."

"An' the baby?"

"The baby, too. Both of you are my special, special munchkins."

Dean giggles again. "'M… 'm no' munchkin!"

"Ohh, yes you are," Mommy chuckles, rubbing her nose against his cheek again. She twists her arms around him to pull him into her lap. "And that up there," she says, "that star, is called the Evening Star. You can wish upon it."

"Really?"

"Really, babe."

Dean leans back, and Mommy smells like ice cream and flowers and everything nice. "How?" he asks her.

"Just close your eyes and ask for it," she tells him.

"Okaaaaay." Dean shuts his eyes. "I wish the baby would go awaaaaay."

"Dean!"

"I don' wan' it," Dean pouts.

"Don't be mean, baby."

"Okaaaaaaay." Dean sniffles, and shuts his eyes again. "I wish… I wish I got apple pie for breakfist tonight."

"Break- _fast_ , Dean. And we have _dinner_ at night, baby."

Dean grumbles as he shuts his eyes again. "I wan' apple pieeee," he whines, already tired of this game. He hears Mommy chuckle softly as she rocks him, and he opens his eyes, to find no apple pie in front of him.

"This is st-stupid," he grumbles.

"Dean."

" _Stupid_ ," he repeats, and his mother sighs.

"Go to your room," she says softly. "I've told you not to say that word."

" _Fine_!" he huffs, and gets up, ignoring his mother's unimpressed face as he stomps off to his room. The apple pie isn't there either. His patience, however, pays off when the pie actually turns up for br— _dinner_.

At that point, he has no idea that his other wish is going to be fulfilled, too.

**~o~**

Sammy is born weird and cranky and _stupid_ (Dean's not supposed to say the word out loud), on the second of May, later that year. Dean hates him at first sight. He starts to cry again at the hospital, and Daddy is scooping him up and shushing him and stroking his hair. But then Dean goes in to see Sammy a second time and takes a good look at his little face and big eyes, fixed on Dean, open and wide with awe. Daddy tells Dean that Sammy loves him. Sammy was born to love him. From that day on, Dean is very sure that he was born to love Sammy, too.

Sammy grows up quick, getting bigger and squashier, and he coos and smiles and adores Dean as much as Dean adores him. He loves it when Dean gives him his bottle sometimes. Loves it when Dean sings to him. Loves it when Dean tries to make him burp and pets him to sleep and when Dean holds him close, while Mommy watches them to see that they're safe.

Dean forgets everything when it comes to Sammy, and his baby brother's big eyes are his whole world, and he thinks he could be Batman for Sammy. He thinks he could do anything for Sammy. And he tells Sammy that, to the baby's chuckles and coos and gurgles, and he thinks that Sammy understands it all. Sammy is just Dean's _best-est_ friend, ever. Even when he makes dirty things in his diapers.

One day, it all comes crumbling down. Dean's perfect world with Mommy and Daddy and Sammy comes falling down at all their feet when there is a hot, hot fire in their house one night. Daddy is outside Sammy's nursery, and he hands over the baby to Dean, and Dean has never seen Daddy so scared. "Take your brother outside as fast as you can!" he says. "Go, Dean, go!"

Dean runs outside, Sammy squirming and crying in his arms as he hears gunshots amidst the roar of the fire, and he can feel his lips start to tremble. The next thing he knows, there are hands on him and someone's behind him, poised to lift him along with Sam, and Daddy suddenly comes out of the house with a big, big gun and shoots. The hands are off Dean as Daddy's eyes shine with fury and he holds the gun to his side while he runs towards Dean, lifting him into the car, and starting to steer them out at a crazy speed.

Sammy whines, and Dean fusses with him on his lap, trying to put Sammy in his car seat before climbing into his own. Sammy is not ready to let go—like he knows, and Dean thinks his baby brother might be very smart.

"Daddy?" he whispers, his voice refusing to come out of his throat.

"Yeah, bud." Daddy sniffs. The anger that Dean saw in him a few minutes ago is gone and his voice is shaking a little, and Dean thinks he might be crying. He feels his own eyes burn.

"Daddy, where's Mommy?"

Daddy doesn't reply for a whole ten minutes. Finally, when he talks, Dean knows Daddy is really crying. "She's gone," he says, his voice sounding stretchy and rough. "She's gone."

Dean doesn't fully know what Daddy means, but suddenly, there's something coming up his throat, and he has to ask him to stop the car so he can be sick.

It's one of the worst days of his life. The second of November—Sammy's half birthday.

And they were going to celebrate with pie.

**~o~**

Dean watches Sam's puckering lips as he pulls the empty milk bottle from his brother's chubby hands. Sam coos, reaches for the bottle again, but Dean puts it aside and adjusts his baby brother in his arms, trying to hold him properly so he can burp him. Sam grumbles and smooshes his small face against Dean's stomach, unwilling to cooperate.

Dean wants to say something to him, coax Sammy to stop resisting as he lifts him, but nowadays he doesn't feel like he wants to talk. His voice is stuck there, in his throat, like everything else, and he thinks his will to talk might have gone with Mommy.

It's two months since Mommy left. Sam's bigger, squashier, and his teeth are giving him loads of trouble. He cries at night from the pain and discomfort and Daddy grumbles from his room and Dean has to climb into the crib and hold his baby brother to get him to calm down. Sam can eat other stuff now, as Daddy had told Dean in a gruff, gravelly voice. Sam can eat stuff that's not milk, and his diapers are getting grosser and grosser. Dean wonders if, apart from making all that kiddy food for Sam, Daddy's noticing his diapers too, and if they're supposed to be this gross, because a lot of the time, Daddy is just in his room, drinking something from a bottle, and then he's asleep.

"Ya yaaaaa," Sam whines as Dean tries to detach him from himself, and Dean can feel the impatience cropping up as he maneuvers Sam in his arms. He wants Daddy to handle Sam today. He wants, just this once, to be able to crawl into his own bed, and he wishes Daddy cared about him or Sam, but it doesn't look like he does. It seems like Daddy doesn't want either of them, and the whole thought makes Dean's throat tighten.

He can feel his eyes get wet but he swallows it down as he successfully hitches Sam up in his arms and holds him to his shoulder, thumping his palm softly against Sam's back. Sam snuffles a couple of times, whines, and then goes on to burp like he's doing everyone a huge favour, and Dean stumbles to his feet to put his little brother to sleep. He peers into Daddy's room, to find him slumped on his desk, a bottle beside him. Dean's breath catches in his throat.

He hurries and puts Sam in his crib because his heart is going _fast, fast, fast_ , thumping too strong, and Daddy isn't moving. Dean climbs onto his father's lap, pushing his hands against Daddy's scratchy beard, and he can feel the tears starting to form.

Big boys aren't supposed to cry. Daddy's been saying that ever since Mommy's been gone. But what if Daddy… what if Daddy—?

The tears are falling out of Dean's eyes and Daddy's cheeks are too cool, and Daddy's too still, and Sammy's too little right now and Dean can't go on without Mommy and without Daddy and he wishes Daddy would wake up, just wake up…

A full-fledged sob escapes out of Dean's throat as he holds on to his father's neck, and the tears are falling rapidly. His breath hitches once and he sobs again, wailing, and suddenly, in his grip, Daddy jerks awake, red eyes blinking confusedly at Dean, who continues to cry. Daddy springs into action then, and Dean feels himself being gathered by strong arms, lifted, and pressed against a wide, warm chest.

"Shh," Daddy says, running a hand over Dean's hair. "Hey, hey, what happened?"

Dean can't speak between the sobs and the tears continue to pour as he tries to sniffle the disgusting snot back in. Daddy keeps stroking his hair, shushing Dean, but Dean can't stop, _can't stop,_ so he buries his face further into Daddy's chest. "D-Don' gooo," he wails, coughing miserably as he tries to catch his breath. His voice is scratchy and itchy, probably because he's not talked in a long time, but he holds on to his father. "D-Daddy, pl-pleeease," he sobs, even as his father holds him closer and cradles him.

He feels a whiskery kiss land on his head, and his father's voice rumbles deep in his chest, against Dean's ear, as he speaks. "Not going anywhere, kiddo," he says, sounding so calm, Dean could go to sleep. "I'm gonna be right here with you and Sammy."

Dean squeezes his eyes shut against more tears, and relaxes in his father's arms, barely realising it when he falls asleep. The next thing he knows, Daddy is carrying him, and he opens his eyes briefly as he feels warm blankets pulled over him. Daddy flashes him a small, sad smile, then, strokes his hair again, and leaves.

Dean feels something light in his chest, and turns to watch Sammy snoozing peacefully in his crib as he goes to sleep, too. He knows that Daddy will never go back on his promises. He knows everything will be okay, more or less, as long as he has Sammy and Daddy with him.

**~o~**

As he grows up, Dean's father keeps making them move from placetoplace, one abandoned house after the other, and a year after his mother's death, they find themselves in a bunker, which Dean later realises is in Lebanon, Kansas. The memories of their stealthy house-hopping never leave his mind, but the first time he really sees people—other people who aren't his family—is in Lebanon.

The bunker is one of many in the area, underground, with many rooms, shared bathrooms with shower stalls (and Dean remembers thinking that he'd never seen so many showers and toilets and mirrors in one room), a large kitchen, an infirmary, target shooting arenas and sparring rooms, and other places for honing all kinds of self-defence skills, a big library, a war room, and a garage amongst other things. The elders never allow the children to wander away inside the bunker without adult supervision. They have a dungeon, too, but no one goes in there.

The bunker, and the others around it, is a part of a ghetto. It's not very easy to live like this, but they somehow manage. The ghetto, like many others, has a small school for children to study the basics, but not really much more than that. Everyone is taught how to read and write, and some of the elders will impart their limited knowledge to the children.

There are small eateries and shops and supplies, mostly raw material like grains, milk, meat, vegetables, and fruit. There is no money involved, just trade. Food is traded for protection, education, and sometimes, personal belongings. Gas and car maintenance are traded for the same. There are hunters who hunt animals and birds, people who keep cows and goats, and others who take care of small gardens for the fruits and vegetables. And that's just how it works.

It's a suffocating life. Sam grows up to become a whining, rebellious kid and Dean sometimes despises his brother for always complaining about everything, but he reckons he gets where Sam is coming from. He and Sam share a room in the bunker that's now home to them, and grow up getting to know each other like the backs of their hands. Dean knows when Sam's having a bad day or a good day. Dean knows when Sam's sad, happy, or particularly bitchy. Dean embraces all those versions of Sam with equal amounts of exasperation, adoration, and annoyance, and sees them all reflected in his little brother, and feels incredibly proud on the good days.

John can't probably win any _Dad of the Year_ awards, but Dean thinks his father is pretty good at being a dad. He is mostly about tough love and training, but after the incident when Dean was five and he'd found John drunk, John has been doing his best. He cares and he loves and maybe he doesn't show it all, but he does. Sam, being the ever-rebellious bitch, regularly butts heads with John, and Dean ends up in the middle of them. The fights grow worse as Sam gets older, and frustrations grow higher, but there's nothing any of them can do about it, so they continue chugging on, loving and hating each other in equal parts.

Dean even accepts the cheesy, embarrassing emotion of love that he has for his family. They become his world, Sam at its centre, and when he thinks he's unlucky to be in this life, he thinks of having his Dad, and Sam, _Sammy_ , and he thinks he might just be really, really lucky.

The stories about demons are innumerable, but the most accurate version is the one that Dean hears from Bobby, another resident at the bunker. Bobby is older; not too old, just slightly older than John, but he's seen things. He's like a second father to both Sam and Dean. He lost his wife to the demons too, has no kids, and he was regularly responsible for Sam and Dean in their littler days, when John went out on hunts.

"Demons are basically evolved people," he tells them one day, when Sam and Dean drop by his room to visit. They've always been inquisitive about this; the big, _'what-the-hell are-we-dealing-with-and-what-are-we-fighting-for?'_ question that their father has never been patient enough to explain.

"So they're not really smoke?" Sam asks him, pushing back his too-long hair when it falls into his eyes.

"They can change bodies, by turning themselves into smoke," Bobby replies, "but really, they need a body to survive in. Salt and iron ain't their friends. You shoot 'em up with rounds made o'those, an' they get paralysed. Then you can do what you want with 'em."

"Why?"

"Damn if I know. You can bet yer ass I tried to find out," says Bobby, "but then ya don't wanna look a gift horse in the mouth, either."

"So they're a mutation," Sam concludes. "An experiment by nature?" He always knew how to use the fancy-ass words, Dean thinks.

"If ya mean a stupid-ass experiment, yeah," says Bobby.

"So angels?"

"I was getting' there." Bobby takes off his ball cap to scratch at his hair, and continues, "Angels were made when the demon problem got to be bad enough fer all the countries of the world to forget about nuclear warfare and identify a deeper issue. The scientists poked and prodded all kinds of crap in their labs for years, until their joint experiment made it a possibility to create artificially mutated people who could gank all the damned demons. Human super-soldiers." He casts a meaningful glance at Dean, who finds that his jaw has dropped.

"They were called angels. Name's cheesy, but those were the tough sons o' bitches. An' they were all just people. People like you and me, but a little less selfish, 'cause they'd voluntarily stood up and given themselves up to this experiment. They were infused with special serum, which the scientists had named as _grace_."

"Grace." Sam shifts himself closer to Bobby, as though he won't be able to hear him from the one-foot distance that they have.

"Yeah," Bobby tells him. "It was this blue chemical in a glass vessel. They knifed these people's necks, put the grace in, and sewed 'em back up. What they got was them angels.

"Angels were very strong. Emotionless. Pretty much the perfect soldiers. They healed quicker, ran faster, were more intelligent, never aged, and were designed to be immortal for all regular methods of being killed. The chemical that made up grace was poisonous and it would burn the surrounding area, so when the angels were around, the only way to identify them would be to look for scarring in their necks, because of the burns and the stitches from opening them up for grace surgery, or whatever that was."

Dean swallows, and looks at Sam who looks engrossed, as though he's reading one of his geeky library books. _Nerd_ , he thinks fondly. What Bobby is saying, though, makes sense. It makes a lot more sense than what the others have been saying about the demons and the angels.

"Anyway," Bobby continues, shifting in his place a little. "Creating those angels was genius, and we finally had this big, badass army of super humans, killing demons by thousands and battling their way through the world to protect humanity. It worked quite well, if ya ask me, but that was until the demons discovered how to kill these, well," and Bobby does air quotes, "'immortal' angels. They understood that without the grace, angels were just people. There was a bloody war, with them demons fighting hard and going for the precise angel weak-point, winning purely by manipulation and numbers until all the angels were killed, with their graces leaked outta them. You know what happened after that."

Yes, Dean knows. The angel-demon war was what had marked the start of the reign of demons on earth. Ever since, the demons have been treating humans like rats, enslaving them, overworking them and using them for entertainment, and then mass murdering them for sport. They kill most of the civilians, and the younger, particularly healthy people are spared, only to serve demons for the rest of their lives. Sometimes, demons kill these people as well, so they can use their bodies as vessels for their amorphous forms.

"Every country has 'em big-shot demons," Bobby provides. Dean knows about these demons, too. They are the ones who are completely in charge of whole countries, like dictators, and they're usually the most notorious and powerful of them all.

"There are five here, right?" he asks Bobby.

"Yeah," replies Bobby. "There's Crowley, Lilith, Abaddon, Alastair, and the biggest son of a bitch of 'em all—Azazel."

"Dad told us," Dean mutters. His throat tightens as he takes a painful swallow. "Azazel was the one who killed Mom."

Bobby sighs when he notices the rapid change in Dean's expressions. "I know, kid. It ain't easy down here. But that's what me and your daddy and so many others are fighting for. You gotta believe that."

"Us too," Dean says. "Me and Sam—" He turns to his brother, who is playing with a loose thread on his jeans. "Right, Sammy?"

"Yeah," Sam replies, without looking up. "Us too." He doesn't sound nearly as enthusiastic as Dean, though, and Dean lets it slide. Sam's still a kid. He'll know. He'll understand, some day. He'll want to fight as hard as Dean does. He'll want to hunt just as much as Dean.

 _Hunt_. Dad and Bobby, and many others at the bunker, are hunters. That's what their dad's training Sam and Dean for. Hunters are the people who protect other people from the demons. They guard ghettos and bunkers and help civilians. Angels without grace, so to say. People who are just _people_. John's been insistent on training Sam and Dean to be hunters and to help other people.

"I gotta have a word with yer daddy about you two being normal kids," says Bobby. "This isn't on you and Sam. What we do is what we do, but—"

"We wanna help," Dean tells him stubbornly. "Don't tell Dad to let us go, Bobby. We wanna help too."

"Dean…"

"Please." He pauses, licks his lips and looks up at Bobby. "So… those demon camps. They really exist?" He really wants to change the subject. He knows that many of the elders at the bunker don't approve of the kids who are being trained as hunters, but he thinks they should shut up. This is his decision. His family's decision.

"You bet your ass they exist," Bobby tells him grimly, in reply to his question. "Why d'ya think we keep fightin'? We lose, and we all end up there. And those ain't yer school summer camps. Those are death camps."

Dean blows a plume of breath through his mouth and grinds the heel of his palm against his forehead. "This sucks," he says.

"Don't it?"

Dean snorts, even though he can feel the goosebumps on his arms. He knows what these camps are all about. There are four of them, owned by the five American demons; large camps where they regularly throw in people, when they go raiding secret ghettos. People are only safe from these demons as long as they stay hidden. And that is the hardest thing to achieve.

Though it's really no secret, Sam and Dean's father has confirmed with them that their mother was, in fact, killed by a demon. That's mostly the reason Dean is down with the idea of being a hunter. He wants to make sure that the other surviving families aren't affected like his. He's also down with his father's intention of being powerful and strong enough to take down the demon empire one day.

Sam's a totally different case, though. He's training as a hunter mainly and purely because he's pissed off at the demons for depriving him and the others of what could have been a normal life. He can't remember Mom, and what drives him is simply different, and Dean can't even get himself to blame Sam for it. The demons are to blame for everything. Everything that's wrong in their lives.

Azazel was the precise demon who had killed Mary. Sometimes, while training rigorously with his father, Dean replays some very colourful, gory pictures in his head of how exactly Azazel will die at his hands. John encourages Dean, gets Sam and Dean to train harder, and Dean knows Sam hates it, but he also knows that Sam often thinks of his own goals of normalcy, and goes with it.

Bobby sighs. "Don't think about it, boy. Your daddy will die before one of you is thrown in a camp."

"Doesn't mean I want _anyone_ to end up there, Bobby," Dean tells him.

He gets a shrug in reply. "Doin' all we can to stop that, ain't we?"

"Yeah," Dean tells him, vowing to put more effort into training starting now. "We're doing all we can." He promises to himself, once again, that he will kill that son of a bitch called Azazel.

**~o~**

On one of the many bad nights that Sam seems to have, Dean is woken up suddenly, something akin to a sixth sense rousing him, to find Sam tossing about in his own bed, in the throes of a nightmare. Cringing at the seemingly horrific dream that his brother is having, Dean peels his blankets off him and makes his way to Sam.

"Sammy?" he calls out, shaking his brother's shoulder. He hasn't switched on a single light, and there is thick, deep silence enshrouding the bunker like a black pall. The only things that bring deep cracks into the quietness of the place are Sam's muffled moans.

Dean shakes him again. "Hey. Wake up, dude."

Sam gasps at that point, shudders, and opens an eye, scrutinising Dean in the darkness. Dean can practically see the sweat dribbling down the sides of his little brother's face, and he watches as Sam pulls his blanket up to wipe it away. "D'n?"

"Who else d'you think it could be?" Dean manages to grin, even through the worry. He pauses. "What's wrong?"

"Nightmare," Sam tells him simply, as if that weren't obvious.

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean stops there and he knows that Sam knows he wants him to talk.

"Does it matter?" Sam grumbles, at long last.

Dean crosses his arms. "It's been happening for a while."

"You—"

"Stop lying to me, asshole, I'm right here in the next bed, and I know."

Sam sighs. "It's okay—nothing… I—"

"What?"

"Just… just Mom. And that attack we carried out the other day on demons. You and me and Dad, and…"

Oh. _Oh_. That had been brutal. The day that demons had attacked a bunker at Wichita, and John had taken Sam and Dean along for the hunt. It had been Sam's first time hunting.

Dean remembers the unsure look that had been on Sam's face before they'd exited the car. He remembers seeing that look being replaced by determination as Sam had loaded up his gun, taken aim and shot at a particularly fierce demon who'd been all but gunning for their father's throat. Dean recalls the sense of pride he'd felt seeing Sam cover for the other hunters and use his smaller size as an advantage, dodging and weaving through danger to help those trapped or in need.

Dean definitely cannot forget the fear he'd felt when Sam had recklessly ran towards Dean to push him out harm's way, only barely escaping himself. The fight had ended in the few remaining demons fleeing from the bunker. Apart from a few scratches here and there and a nasty gash on Sam's arm from saving Dean's life, no one else was worse for the wear.

However, Dean doesn't think he'll ever forget the ringing in his ears from the loudness of the gunshots and the sense of urgency and fear of losing Sam or his father during a hunt. The images of the bloodshed and slashed up dead bodies are something that haunt his and, now he knows, Sam's nightmares every now and again.

But the training helps to keep their mind off of a lot of it. It is not only a way to get better at their job but also take out the anger and frustration at the fucked up world they now live in.

They've been training really, really hard as hunters, and harder after Bobby told Dean about all those stories. By the time Dean was ten, he was one of the best shots around at target practice. Sam was the same when he hit ten. Now, they've each mastered hand-to-hand combat too, and Sam's just touching twelve.

"I don't like this, Dean," Sam whispers, pulling Dean out of his reverie. He looks down at his brother again, who's dragging himself into a sitting position. "I don't want this life."

"Yeah, well, we can't complain, Sammy," Dean tells him. "This is as good as it gets."

"I know," he agrees. "Yeah, but…" He trails away, and he's staring at the wall opposite them, as though he's thinking hard about something.

"But?"

"I want this to be over. I want to study. I want to live somewhere else, in my own apartment, where I don't have to worry about food, and crap like that." Oh yeah, Sam's always wanted to study. Study more, know more, explore the fucking planet and all the books it has and though Dean is amused and proud that his kid brother is so ambitious, he catches something else behind Sam's confession.

"You want to leave me and Dad behind so you can go be a geek?" he asks Sam, heart thumping fast against his chest, like that night, so many years ago, when he'd found John drunk and slumped at his desk, and thought he was dead.

"I just want my own space," Sam tells him dejectedly. "I mean, do you like sharing a room with me? Don't you feel like you'd like your own place?"

Would Dean like his own place? His own room? That's not even a question. But, Mary had always told Dean to count his blessings. To look at the things that made him happy. To be thankful for everything that was good, even during the bad times in his life.

This shrimp of a little brother that Dean's got, is what the good in Dean's life amounts to. What's been his constant all these years, is Sam. This stupid, whiny brat telling Dean that he would rather be far away from him and John than understand the fact that the three of them literally have no one else to call their own, and celebrate the fact that they each at least have _family_ , unlike some of the others at the bunker. And this idiot, lying here right now, this idiotic, floppy-haired kid is what Dean counts as his blessing, and Sam just wants to ditch them all and run away some day.

Sam might be annoying, but he is very important to Dean; brother, friend and confidante, and his significance in Dean's life just increases by the day. Dean considers his little brother his own responsibility and vows to himself to look out for him at all times. Sometimes, he thinks it gives him more purpose.

Sam won't understand, though. Sam will never understand.

"Hey," Sam calls out quietly.

Dean turns to Sam. "Hmm?"

"Don't tell Dad, okay?" Sam tells him. "He'll be pissed."

Dean snorts as he gets up, and heads to his own bed. "Have I ever, bitch?"

Sam doesn't reply to that. Because Dean's always kept his secrets. _"Pinkie promise?"_ he'd ask when he was a kid, barely over six, and Dean would let him clutch their little fingers together. It has always been like this, and it's never changed between them.

"I wish, though," Sam says wistfully as Dean lays back down, "I wish I could go somewhere—somewhere far, away from all of this, for a long, long time."

Dean doesn't let the tightness in his throat get to him. Not until Sam's goddamned wish comes true anyway.

**~o~**

During Sam and Dean's fourteenth and eighteenth years respectively, the other hunters around the bunker deem them good enough to start training the younger hunters. It's a good ruse; since hunters are trained young, and Sam and Dean not being too old themselves, are able to gel better with the kids. Bobby and some of the parents violently disagree with this, but there are still kids who get trained; kids who are taught how to handle a gun. Sam and Dean don't think this is a great idea either, but then they just decide to go with what the majority wants.

That is essentially the beginnings of the young hunter army at the bunker. It's one of the first in the whole of America, according to Bobby's contacts. Dean doesn't know whether he should be proud or ashamed, but he decides to go with proud, because that's the only thing that maybe makes him feel marginally better about this clusterfuck.

 _Maybe_.

**~o~**

Dean feels Jo's breath ghost over his face in a huff as she pushes him away from herself, hands pressing against his shoulders. He blinks and disconnects their lips, wiping his with the back of his hand. "What happened?"

"You gotta try harder than that, Winchester," she replies, putting her hands over her hips. "Just catching up with me in an empty room and trying to eat my face isn't sexy."

Dean grins at her as he straightens up. "Playing hard to get, huh?"

"No," she says, an eyebrow arching at his statement. "It's called self-respect." She snorts, pushes her fingers through his hair once, ruffling it, before starting to stalk away.

Dean licks his lip. "We still friends?"

She looks back, winks once, and leaves the room. Dean sighs as he watches her go, her little skirt swivelling around slim thighs while she walks. "Ah, fuck," he mutters to himself.

He runs his hands through his hair to straighten the mess she just made of it, feels his shoulders slump as he makes his way to the library, where he knows he can find Sam. He feels a small spark of joy when he realises he's right, and finds Sam bent over a book with Kevin by his side. Kevin is an Asian kid, staying at the bunker with his mom. He shares a passion for books with Sam, and they often geek out together at the library, like they are now.

Dean walks up to them, drags up a chair beside Sam's, and plonks himself down on it. "Hey."

Sam looks up from his book. He actually looks up from his book, which is weird, because he'll always mutter a 'hey' back and not talk much. But Dean sees the concern in his brother's eyes, and knows that Sam somehow already _knew_. "What's up?" Sam asks him, and seriously, _fuck this kid._

Dean scoffs, eyes Kevin, and then shrugs. "Nothing. Kinda got dumped. Y'know. Your everyday scenario."

Kevin knows about him and Jo; they're in the same circle of friends anyway, and Dean trusts Kevin not to go gossiping with the rest of the bunker.

Sam, bless that kid, doesn't smile or laugh. "What'd she say?"

"Just that she's got self-respect." Dean wrinkles his nose. "Does she mean that Cassie didn't have any?"

"No," Sam tells him, "but you didn't bug Cassie like you're bugging her."

"You think I'm bugging her?"

Sam shrugs his sixteen-year-old bony shoulders. "Kinda. You keep chasing after her. You didn't do that to Cassie."

"'Cause that just kinda happened."

"Maybe you should give Jo some space too."

Dean stares at his brother. "Your advice is crappy, dude."

"Fine," Sam replies, returning to his book. "There's a six-pack stash from last week. Under my bed. I'll be there in five."

Dean blinks a few times, and grins, bringing a hand to clap on Sam's shoulder. "That's my boy." He pauses. "Don't tell Dad?"

Sam puffs a breath of laughter into his book. "Have I ever?"

**~o~**

"So how's it going with you and Madison?"

Dean loads his shotgun as he and Sam stand at the trunk of the Impala, checking their weapons and filling them in their duffels. It's August, and a little pleasant, but they know it will be anything but pleasant at Texas, where they're headed to rescue a ghetto from a demon attack.

"It's cool," Sam tells him, straightening the collar of his thin plaid shirt. He goes a little pink around the ears as he smiles. "She's really nice." The _I like her a lot_ is unsaid, but Dean hears it anyway.

"She comin' over to fight, too?"

"Yeah, she is."

"You know," Dean says, as he throws the shotgun in and clutches at his keys, "Dad still thinks you're a virgin or something. He totally lectured me on how I was dirtying up your mind by advising you."

"Really?" Sam asks him. "Come on, man, I'm _eighteen_. And Maddie and I aren't a secret."

"Yeah. I don't think he wants to accept that," Dean says with a wistful chuckle. He looks behind at the others, who are loading their own vehicles. He watches his dad settle into a truck with Bobby, and give them a thumbs-up.

"That's our cue," Dean mutters, pushing his sunglasses over the bridge of his nose. "C'mon."

As he gets into the driver's seat and waits for Sam to follow, he wonders if this is their whole life; flirting and shacking up with the limited people at the bunker, going on hunts, bribing for food (and going hungry for days sometimes), and living in fear and secret.

And then he watches Sam get into the passenger seat and thinks, he can take it all; _fuck_ , he can take it all, as long as Sam's there to sit through this shit with him and make it all a little better.

**~o~**

_"D'n?"_

_"….ean?"_

_"Dean…?"_

Dean's brain pulsates against his skull, stomach churning, and he pushes weakly at the hands trying to grab at his blankets. His arms and legs and face and ass are throbbing and he wishes people would stop calling out his name. He wonders why he goes on benders like this; why he lets himself get so drunk, when it only makes him feel so crappy the next day.

"Dean." The voice is much gentler this time. A hand finds his hair. It's rough and familiar and Dean leans into it.

"Come on, dude," says a voice. "Open your eyes."

Dean swallows, but there's no saliva in his mouth. It feels like his tongue is sewn into his hard palate and like someone wrung all the water content out of him and left him to dry. He can recognise the owner of the hand and the voice…and there's something wrong with it. There's something so, so wrong…

"S'mmy?" Dean doesn't even know how he gets himself to say it, but it's like an automatic response; something springing out of his mouth, that's wholly not under his control. His tongue still feels dry and shrivelled and Dean doesn't know how he managed to get it out of its lifelong alliance with the palate.

"Dean, it's Dad," says the voice.

"S'mmy."

There's a sigh. The hand leaves his hair. Dean drifts off.

When he wakes up again, it's in a dark, dark room and in a familiar bed. Dean squirms underneath his blankets and turns, trying to open his eyes to see the Sam Lump curled up in the other bed, wrapped up in fifty blankets to keep his overheated body warmer than anyone should be comfortable with, but when Dean turns, there's someone else in Sam's bed.

"Sam?" Dean startles, fumbling out of his covers and trying to reach for the gun under his pillow, but before he can get his arms and legs to move, the lights turn on and his dad is bending over him, trying to get him flat on his back.

"Shh, shh, come on, Dean, it's me," John repeats under his breath as Dean struggles against him, blinking against the bright light.

Dean tries to fight him because he needs to see Sam—needs to get to him and he can't remember anything. Why is he here? What happened? Where's Sam? Why's his dad behaving like… overcooked cauliflower? Dean tries not to chuckle at the description his mind provides, and thinks he might have been given some of the good stuff to knock him out.

"Relax," John tells him, like Dean's going to be able to do that. "I'll explain. I'll explain, okay? Relax."

And Dean looks at his father, notices his wet eyes and his heart is racing and suddenly, he's slumping, feeling like everything around him is collapsing. What is this? What does this mean? Why is his dad being like this?

"What do you remember?" John asks him gently.

Dean thinks for a whole minute, and gets it—Texas. The attack on the ghetto. The bloodbath. Demons killing people, dragging women away and shooting at children like it's all funny. The moment they'd entered, Dean had felt his blood boil as he'd picked up his shotgun and aimed it at the nearest dickbag demon.

The creature turned, smiled, eyes pitch-black, and Dean shot at it again. That's all he remembers clearly, anyway. After that he thinks of his fingers constantly pressing at the trigger, the frantic reloading of the shells, and sounds from gunshots everywhere as Dad and Bobby and Sam and the others did their job. Dean had seen his mother in his mind, heard her coo into his ear, and he had felt something roaring in his chest as he shot at the demons, paralysing them with the salt shells, injuring them, and wishing he could kill them and tear them apart.

There was smoke and fire, and the feeling in his gut that something was just so wrong. And more smoke and more fire, fumes suffocating him, black invading his vision, and…

"Where's Sam?" Dean asks John. "Dad, I shot those demons and there was a fire, and…"

"You came back to the truck somehow," John tells him. "And you passed out after."

Dean's throat is dry. "And Sam?"

John takes his own sweet time answering. He fumbles with his nightshirt, then Dean's sheets, and if Dean's hands weren't shaking so damn hard, he'd grab the man by his collar, but he waits, every heartbeat loud in his ear, and he waits, until…

"Dean, after you came back, Bobby and I went looking for Sam." John swallows, and Dean is startled to see tears in the eyes of his unbreakable father. "We looked everywhere, son, and—"

"No."

"They killed that girl, too—Madison. And Isaac and Tamara and Rufus."

Sam's going to be heartbroken. Dean needs to find his brother. "Oh God," he whispers. "D-Dad…"

"We couldn't find Sammy," John repeats. "He's – he's gone…"

"No."

"Dean—"

"He's not dead, Dad," Dean tells him. "The demons have him. They took him with them and we just need to—"

"They kill hunters," John tells him. "Even if they'd kept Sam in one of those godforsaken camps; Manhattan or Maryland or wherever, we could have gone, Dean, but you know that they don't keep the hunters alive."

"N-No." Dean's heart is going to come out of his chest. The room spins and his gut churns and he doesn't know if he's going to pass out or puke or explode or…

_Don't tell Dad._

_Have I ever?_

No. No, Sam can't be gone, he can't be gone…

Dean looks through blurring vision as his father clasps his shoulder. His mouth is downturned, voice rasping as he talks. "He's gone, son. Sammy is dead."

That is the moment when Dean's whole world implodes around him.

**~o~**

Madison, Isaac, Tamara, and Rufus get their farewells in the woods at the back of the bunker. Dean can't recollect much of it, except for leaning heavily into his dad because his legs can't yet support his weight. He wonders where Sam is, and if the demons dumped him somewhere to let him die and rot away, and…

He stops thinking when his stomach roils threateningly, and when he's walking back to the bunker, Charlie catches up with him, curling an arm around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder. Dean feels his breath catch in his throat, and then leans in himself as they trudge back to the bunker. Charlie is an orphan who was brought in when Dean was six. She was just a baby, barely a year old, both her parents having been murdered when the ghetto she was staying in was attacked. Bobby, John, and a few others had gone to help out there and had returned, sullen-faced, with Charlie as the sole survivor. She was always quiet, and Dean had seen her many times with sympathy gripping his heart. She'd mostly kept to herself, though, and Dean hadn't really known her until she'd come in for hunter-training. Now, Charlie is seventeen and brilliant, and Dean thinks Charlie might be the little sister he never asked for. He wonders what he'd do without her.

Dean carries on every day after the funeral; drags himself through and hopes he won't become a raving lunatic, and he wonders if Sam's watching over him and laughing. Because Sammy can do that. Sammy is totally capable of doing that. When he feels better, he drives back to Texas with Charlie stubbornly keeping him company. The ghetto is in ruins but he looks and he looks, for Sammy, any sign of him, any sign of his remains… but there's nothing. And he looks. He pushes over the remains, runs into broken-down houses, and…

"Dean!"

He can feel a tug, arms around him, and he turns around and Charlie is appalled. She reaches to brush away the wetness on his cheek, but he ducks, and walks towards the car.

He doesn't get out of bed or talk for a week after that.

He goes out to the small woods behind the bunker in the evenings, thinks about what his mom said about the Evening Star and he shuts his eyes and wishes; wishes _every day_ for his brother to return from wherever he is, because that's the one constant Dean wants and needs in his life, like oxygen, like water. And he feels like he's drowning; like something's progressively crowding his lungs and stopping him from breathing and maybe, maybe he'll die in his sleep… _maybemaybemaybe_.

The phone rings while he's in his room one day. The bunker has one line and phones are in every room, but no one ever calls because of the danger of being tracked by demons. Bobby and John and even Dean usually get requests for help or info from other hunters on their cell phones, which are untraceable by some advanced hocus-pocus technology in the bunker. So when this phone rings, when Dean hears it, he's out of his bed and he's holding the receiver to his ear because…

"Sammy?" he whispers into the line.

There is no reply, but Dean holds on. He waits a whole minute, and then braces himself against the side table, hands gripping at it and knuckles turning white. "Hey," he says. "Talk to me. I'm here, man. Tell me where you are I'll come get—"

"Dean?" Dean almost jumps out of his skin, but then he realises that the voice is coming from the other room, and it's not Sam. It's Dad. John peeks into the room, and looks at Dean questioningly. "Who is it?"

Dean doesn't reply to John. He turns away, unable to face his father. "Sammy, I know it's you," he whispers, voice catching in his throat. "Sam, talk to me."

" _What_?" John asks from behind, and Dean presses the receiver closer to his ear.

"Sammy, please."

There's nothing, noting, and then he hears it. A ragged breath—a shuddering, scared breath, and Dean's vision blurs as his lips quirk in a small smile. "Sammy," he says, voice quivering, "Sammy, hey—"

The receiver is snatched out of Dean's hands and he watches, fists clenching, as his dad takes it. "Sam?"

"Dad, he—"

"Sam?" John says sternly, eyes hardened, and Dean's heart is racing again, but before he knows it, his father moves ahead and puts the receiver back in its cradle. "The demons could be trying to track us," he mutters. "Son of a bitch."

"Dad, that was Sam."

"Sam's dead." John looks at Dean with finality as he says it. "I let you go back to Texas even though it was stupid, but that's the last time I risk losing you, okay? Sam's gone. I want you to remember this, son." His voice is soft as he wipes a hand over his face. "Sam isn't coming back."

Dean wants to tell him that he doesn't have a life anymore, not without Sam, but he shuts up. He watches his father walk away, and waits for Sam to call again.

He waits months, and then years. He waits an eternity. He just keeps waiting for Sam, knowing that one day, maybe one day, his hopes and wishes will come true. One day, maybe life will decide not to be so cruel for him.

Dean drags on through sunrises and sunsets. He drags on for Sammy.

 


	2. He Went Chasing Love

**_Four years later_ **

Three consecutive knocks followed by another three spaced about two seconds apart each resonate on the heavy metal doors of the bunker. Dean waits in tense silence, eyes darting about his surroundings, making sure for the millionth time that he wasn't tailed. A grinding noise of dead bolts being unlocked fills the quiet, chilly air around him and he winces. It's one of the disadvantages of living in an otherwise fully guarded, armed, and secure place. The noise is just too loud when any person is getting in or out.

He could have used the Impala, but nowadays, it just didn't feel right sitting in it alone. Except for when they'd go out to hunt, Dean hardly took the car out these days, though he made it a point to take very good care of it. Never was there even the tiniest speck of dust on the car.

He adjusts the duffel bags, hands straining from the weight. They'd been running low on food and other necessities so Dean volunteered to make a run. Sometimes, getting out of the bunker, though not very safe, seems to give him a little bit of relief.

When you're constantly cooped up within four walls and the same room, it's not fun, thinks Dean. Then again, nothing has ever been fun. Not since the world went to shit and he kept losing people he cared about.

Mom.

 _Sam_.

Dean grits his teeth and forces himself to shove these thoughts into the tiny little box at the back of his brain. Ever since that phone call four years ago, word had spread around the bunker that Dean wasn't in his right mind. Though Dean's been grateful to the people who cared, who all but completely abolished the rumors, he has to admit that, in a way, they hadn't been wrong. He may have been sane, but he knew something in him had broken that day; shattered beyond the ability to be fixed.

As the bunker door opens, Dean snaps out of his thoughts and easily puts his mask on, the one he's gotten used to wearing for the last few years.

He can't help but smile as he sees his red-headed companion smirking at him, leaning on the door.

"Took you long enough," Charlie says.

Dean shrugs. "I stopped to enjoy the view," he retorts as he descends the stairs, heading for the war room just below.

He grunts as he lifts the bags onto the table. Charlie is immediately at his side, opening one of the bags.

Dean flexes his fingers. "Fuck, these things are heavy."

Charlie chuckles. "You didn't exactly just go shopping for yourself, you know. Besides, if you really needed help, you could have taken one of us."

Dean doesn't say anything. He just hadn't felt like taking anyone else. Living around so many people, you tend to cherish the moments you get to spend alone. And nowadays, alone just felt better than socializing.

"Get everything we need?" John asks as he walks into the war room.

Dean opens up the remaining bag. "Yup, though Marty said he might need to make a trip into town in a few days to restock his own supplies."

"Okay, then," John acknowledges. "I'll talk to Caleb and a few of the others, see if they're okay to make a run into town soon."

"Need help stocking up the storage room?" Dean asks, half-hoping for his father to agree. Keeping his hands busy will probably help keep his constant fucked up thoughts at bay.

John shakes his head. "Nah. You go on and get some shut-eye. I need you in the next training session in an hour."

"Yes, sir," Dean agrees and starts trudging to his room.

He can't stand being in there, though. It's a constant reminder to him that his baby brother isn't with them; with _him_ anymore, even if he'd never gotten around to asking for a new room. And in a fucked up way, he didn't want to move out of here either. Even though seeing the empty bed at the far end of the room felt like someone was constantly driving a sword into his chest, it also reminded him of the happy times he and Sam had shared and he wasn't ready to leave Sammy behind. So he reckons that's why he never got around to a new room anyway.

Dean sighs as he kicks off his footwear upon entering his room and flops onto the bed nearest the door. He throws one of his shoes at it, slamming the door shut.

Sleep. Yet another thing he isn't fond of anymore. He likes to pretend he doesn't notice the now-permanent bags under his eyes. He likes to pretend that his dad or Charlie haven't rushed into his room in the middle of the night to wake him up from the throes of consistent nightmares. He most definitely likes to believe that Sam is not dead.

He refuses to believe it. Not until he's seen Sam with his own eyes.

Somewhere in his mind, he knows he's being irrational. He knows that his baby brother didn't make it out of that hunt. But he just can't wrap his mind around the fact that _Sam_ , the kid that was the only stable thing in his life, is forever gone.

And just like that, Dean can feel the hole in his chest widen. It's hard to breathe and his vision blurs with unshed tears. He curls into a ball, determined not to break down again. He's lost count of the amount of times he's grieved for his brother. His fingers immediately curl around the pendant hanging around his neck with a black leather cord.

Sam had given it to him a year or two after they had taken refuge in the bunker. He'd gone with Bobby to one of the storage rooms to explore. Dean had been so fond of Sam's genuine curiosity and thirst for knowledge. Sam had come back with the amulet in his hand, saying that Bobby had given it to him and that the old man had told him that it was supposed to protect the person that wore it.

Dean had hugged his brother and had let Sam put it around his neck.

Dean feels himself starting to calm down as his fingers clench around the amulet. He feels the tightening in his chest loosen up slightly and he slowly uncurls himself, lying on his side, facing the door. He hastily wipes away the few tears that had escaped and wills himself to get some sleep.

His dreams are haunted by his brother's screams and vivid images of their mother being burned alive.

**~o~**

Dean startles awake when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Instinctually, he grabs the hand and twists it around, but immediately lets go as he hears a familiar grunt of pain.

"Dad?" he calls out and reaches over to his bedside table to turn on the lamp. He looks to his side and sees his father kneeling next to the bed, clutching his right arm.

"Shit, sorry," Dean apologizes, horrified that he just attacked his father for no reason.

John shakes his head. "It's fine. You learned well," he remarks.

Dean smiles but doesn't say anything. John gets to his feet, now flexing his arm. "Came to wake you up. Get to the war room. Jo's out on an errand but Charlie is waiting for you."

John reaches for a pat on Dean's shoulder before he leaves the room. Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed and takes a deep breath. He gets to his feet and walks over to the bathroom to freshen up and hopefully look a little more awake. A couple of minutes later he exits and slowly makes his way to the training arena at the other end of the bunker.

His mind wanders to the times when he and Sam used to train together.

_"That all you got, bitch?" Dean teases as he gets to his feet, panting. He hadn't expected the counter Sam had pulled and inside, he was really proud._

_Sam chuckles. "I'm just warming up."_

_"Oh, you're gonna pay for that!" Dean charges towards his brother. He ducks as Sam's right arm swings out towards his head and pulls on Sam's left arm and bends, thrusting his hips back, flipping Sam over himself and onto the mat below._

_Sam grunts as he hits the ground but doesn't waste time getting back on his feet. "That was a lucky shot."_

"Or it was just my awesome fighting skills."

_Sam snorts. "Yeah, right."_

_"Shut up and fight, bitch."_

_"Come at me, jerk."_

Every goddamn thing, even years later, reminds him of Sam. And sometimes, it's the worst fucking feeling in the world. There are days when Dean just feels like putting a bullet in his mouth would be the best thing because it would end this fucking agony he feels. It would make the pain go away. And then there are days where he knows that even though it looks like a good solution, he's just going to end up hurting the people he cares about even more.

So he goes on. He drags on. _For them._

Dean doesn't realize he's standing just outside the arena until Charlie opens the door and walks right into him. He startles and immediately holds onto her arms as she stumbles backwards.

"Oops. Sorry. I was just coming to look for you," Charlie explains.

"Well, I'm here now," Dean says, immediately putting a smile on his face. It sometimes scares him how easy it is to pretend everything is okay when it literally feels like pieces of him are chipping away each day.

He then walks along with Charlie and leads her to the shooting range that is situated next to the training area. He can't help but be amused at the excitement on Charlie's face. He recalls how enthusiastic she'd been to learn shooting.

"Don't get too excited, kiddo. Firing a gun isn't as easy as you think it is," Dean says.

Charlie rolls her eyes. "Well. I'm probably gonna be your best student then."

Dean laughs fondly. "We'll see."

They enter the shooting range, eyeing the booths meant for practising. About ten feet away are targets, human silhouettes for shooting practice. At the far left end of the range are shelves, boxes, and holders dedicated to the placement of various types of firearms and ammunition.

Dean walks over with Charlie following. He then proceeds to pick up a few of the guns and tell her what they are, how many rounds they hold and if they're suitable for long range or not. He shows her the muzzles, hammers, and triggers, and the loading and unloading of magazines and clips. He teaches her about bullets and cartridges and pellets, calibers, injuries, entry wounds and exit wounds and mushrooming.

He smiles to himself a few times seeing the attentiveness on Charlie's face. And his heart breaks a little as it reminds him so much of Sam.

He then picks up one of the unloaded pistols and hands it to her.

"Okay, first things first. You need to know how to load and unload a gun before you learn how to fire it. Because once that gun is out of bullets, it's pretty much useless."

He then picks up a magazine from one of the boxes. "Can you guess how many rounds that thing could hold?"

"Well, from the look of it, it's a standard 9-mm, semi-automatic handgun. So, maybe like, 15 rounds?"

Dean blinks, surprised. "Wow. Okay, you were spot on with that."

Charlie chuckles. "I couldn't sleep much last night. So I borrowed Bobby's book on firearms and well, kinda read it all night."

Dean holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay, then. You probably don't need me here," he teases, mockingly heading towards the door.

"No, I do!" Charlie exclaims. "Books don't freaking teach you as well as a live person could."

Dean laughs as he makes his way back to her. He then shows her how to load and unload the magazine. Charlie, as expected, gets it right the first time (kid's always been badass. _Like Sammy_ ).

After going through the basics with her, he takes the pistol and walks over to one of the partitions.

"I'm gonna tell you one thing before we start. Shooting a person or anything living is lot harder than shooting a paper target."

Charlie nods, serious. "Okay. Well, let's hope I can keep my head in the game if I ever need to shoot someone that's not made of paper."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Okay, so, holding it with two hands makes it a lot steadier than with one. So we'll start with that."

He slowly demonstrates it, explaining each step as he shows it. Charlie is a quick learner and soon, Dean is showing her all the different ways to hold the gun in a two-hand grip before handing it over to her.

He smiles proudly when after a couple of failed attempts and a bit more explaining, she finally gets it right.

"Very good, I'm impressed."

Charlie beams and then says, "Can we get to actually using the gun now?"

Dean takes the gun from her. He adjusts his posture, one leg behind the other to help with the recoil and both hands on the gun, shoulders tight and grip firm.

"Each gun has a different degree of recoil and it takes some getting used to," he explains. "Other than that, it's pretty simple. Just point and shoot."

He hands Charlie a pair of earmuffs. "The sound can be pretty loud at first if you're not used to it. You're better off putting these on."

He takes a deep breath, aims for the chest of the silhouette, and fires. He smirks when the bullet hits its mark.

Charlie grins. "You're not bad," she says as she takes off her earmuffs and lets them hang around her neck.

"Not bad?" Dean scoffs. "Seriously? I just nailed that shot, Charlie."

Charlie shrugs and holds her hand out for the gun. She puts her earmuffs back on and mimics Dean's posture. Dean watches as she takes a few seconds to calm down and then fires. Dean hits a button on the side of the partition to bring the sheet of paper closer and he gapes when he sees that Charlie was only a couple of centimeters off from the bullseye.

Another pang hits him as he realizes Sam had been pretty good on his first try, too. He decides to shove the feeling deep down because right now, it's about Charlie.

"Holy crap, kid. You're not bad."

"Not bad?" Charlie mocks. "Bitch, I nailed that shot."

Dean chuckles fondly. "You're one weird kid, I'm gonna tell you that."

"And you're one weird guy. But hey, we work well, I think," she says, eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, we do."

He watches as Charlie then puts the target back in place and gets ready to practice some more. Once again, he's reminded of how much he misses Sam.

He's thankful to have Charlie, though. He remembers how hard it used to be for him. It's still hard, but it's more bearable, he feels. Charlie is a big part of them. She always tries to make him smile, and be there for him if he needs her. She's always goofing around, but can also be serious and attentive and work her ass off in training. She's like the sister he never had, and while he knows no one can ever fill Sam's place, he's glad he has someone like Charlie around.

He's surprised she stuck around with him this long. He recalls how emotionless he used to be in the beginning when he'd started training her. He'd pretty much been a douchebag at first, but then he'd slowly developed a fondness for her. He appreciates her having put up with his moody self when she'd had every right to rattle off about him and get one of the other hunters living in the bunker to train her. He's thankful she gave him a chance to somehow pull himself back together as best he could.

Dean snaps out of his thoughts when he hears his name being called from the hallway. He walks over to the door and peeks out, spotting Kevin looking for him.

"Kevin! Here!" he yells out.

Kevin turns around, spots Dean, and waves before running over to him.

"What's up?" Dean asks. "Take a breath, Kev," he adds, seeing Kevin panting and wheezing for breath.

"I've been looking…all over…for you," Kevin pants. He takes a few minutes to get his breathing back to normal before saying, "Your dad is looking for you. Told me to go find you in the training arena but you weren't there. He's waiting in the war room."

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. What would his father need him for?

"Charlie!" he yells, so that she can hear him over the earmuffs.

Charlie startles and looks around, taking them off. "Yeah?"

"Take a break. Dad's calling me. Must be something important."

"Okay." Charlie walks over with the gun and places it on one of the shelves. Dean gives a look of thanks to Kevin and then hurries down the hallway towards the war room.

He is surprised yet again when he sees his father dressed in hunting gear with a large duffel on the map table at the center of the room.

"Dad, you going somewhere?" Dean asks as he walks over to his father.

"Yeah. Dean, I've got a possible lead on something I've been looking out for, for a while now. I need you to take care of this place until I'm gone, okay?"

Dean's eyebrows draw together in confusion. He licks his lips as he says, "You know I always do that. What's so important that you need to go by yourself, though? I don't see backup with you."

"It's probably nothing. But I can't ignore the lead. I'll only be gone a week at the most, son. Until then, you need to hold down the fort and protect these people."

"But, Dad – "

"Dean, just trust me on this, okay? If this lead turns out to be true, we're in a lot more shit than I first planned. And I need to do this alone," John explains, stern.

Dean clenches and unclenches his jaw a few times. "Yes, sir. Will do."

John claps a hand on Dean's shoulder and then makes his way up to the balcony to exit the bunker. Dean watches as John climbs up the stairs. Just as John is about to open the door, Dean calls out, "Hey, Dad?"

John turns around to look at his son.

"Watch out for yourself, okay?" Dean says, worried.

John smiles. "Always do, Dean-o. See you in a couple of days."

Dean silently watches as John exits the bunker, the door banging shut after him. He stares it for a long moment, wondering when he'll see Dad again and then starts making his way back towards the shooting range, hoping to find Charlie along the way.

His instinct tells him that something's not right here, and he hopes to everything he believes in that he's wrong.

**~o~**

**_Two weeks later_ **

Dean fidgets with the book open in front of him as he sits in the war room, making records of the amount of supplies used up and how much they'd need to order in a couple more weeks. His gaze flits towards the entrance to the bunker more times than he'd like to admit.

John had said a week max and he's still not here.

 _Maybe he's just caught up a little_ , Dean thinks. _He'll be back. He always is._

Sighing, Dean gets back to jotting down necessities, doing his best to ignore the nagging feeling in his gut he'd felt ever since John had stepped out of the bunker.

**_One month later_ **

No one wants to believe him. He keeps voicing his fear of something having happened to his father and all everyone keeps telling him is that John is a tough guy and that he's probably caught up in what he left for in the first place.

Dean grits his teeth as he sits on his bed, leg bouncing up and down in nervousness. He knows something is wrong here. And he's going to find out what.

**_Four months later_ **

Dean flings his glass of whiskey with full force against the bookshelves in the library. He feels nothing but fury and guilt.

His father has been missing for four months. And it took at least three of those months for the rest of the older hunters to believe Dean's theory about John being in trouble.

Dean had worked night and day for four fucking months, following even the smallest possible lead he could find to know if his dad was all right. Each time, it had turned up absolutely nothing.

And right now, he was at his breaking point.

First Sam. Now Dad. Was he ever going to stop losing the people he cared about; the people he loved?

**~o~**

Dean rubs at his eyes as he stares at the bulletin board in front of him, hung up on the far empty wall in his room. He swirls the last dregs of coffee in the cup in his hand and drains it, setting it aside on the nearest bedside table.

The board is covered in sheets of his own writing, pictures of locations, coordinates and different colored strings connecting a few of the notes and locations to one another.

So far, though, all of Dean's efforts had yielded nothing but dead ends. Dean picks up the black marker on the bed and crosses out yet another lead, trying not to let it get to him. He'd been so sure that he'd somehow find something here, but as always, he got shit.

Dean flops down onto the bed, head buried in his hands. He's such a fucking failure. Six months. Six freaking months and not one clue about his father's whereabouts.

He'd considered the possibility of John having gone into hiding, but he knows his father well. John would have found a way to let them know by now that he was all right. So if he's not talking, it means he's in trouble.

Right now, it's come to the point that Dean just hopes that his father is alive.

He turns around at a knock on the door and spots Kevin at the threshold.

"Need something, Kev?" Dean asks.

Kevin shakes his head and walks in, sitting at the foot of the bed along with Dean.

Though he may not admit it, Dean appreciates the silent company. It makes him feel less alone. In the beginning when Dean had had suspicions about his father having gone missing, the only people that had stood by him were Kevin, Charlie, and Jo. If it weren't for them, he probably wouldn't have had any leads to follow in the first place. They had been an immense help then, and they still are now.

"So, nothing?" Kevin finally asks.

Now it's Dean's turn to shake his head. "Another dead end. The only thing we do know for sure is that the last anyone had seen of him was just outside of Wyoming. And the only reason we know that is because Rick, the hunter from the group of people near there, said he'd stopped by for a day to rest. After that it's like he just disappeared off the fucking map. No one's seen him since."

"Maybe he doesn't want to be found?" Kevin supplies.

Dean shakes his head again. "No, Kev. I just know, okay? Something's not right. Dad would have found a way to tell us he was okay."

Kevin gets to his feet. He claps a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He'll be okay. We'll find him. Anyway, I'm on kitchen duty today so I gotta go."

Dean looks up at Kevin. "Thanks, Kev. Yeah, go ahead."

Kevin walks out the room. Dean takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his face. He too gets to his feet and makes his way over to the door, thinking of stepping out for a few errands when the phone in his room starts ringing.

He slowly turns around, déjà vu creeping up on him. It's like he's back to four years ago when he'd thought it was Sam. Hoped, so desperately, and it hadn't been. They still don't know who it was but Dean knows it wasn't Sam because Sam would talk, right?

The phone rarely ever rings, so Dean is cautious as he walks up to it, feeling like nothing good is going to be at the other of the line.

He sits down on the bed so his back is facing the door and picks up the receiver. He hesitates a little before finally bringing it to his ear.

"Hello?"

No answer.

"Hello? Anyone there?" he asks.

Frustrated when no one answers, Dean is about to hang up when he hears the faintest sounds of breathing. His heart skips a beat. This is exactly like the last time.

Is it Sam again?

"Hello? Sammy? That you?" he asks, his tone reaching desperation.

" _De'n,"_ says a raspy voice through static.

Dean immediately recognizes it. " _Dad_?! Holy shit, where the fuck are you? Are you okay?"

Static once again covers up John's reply.

Dean presses the receiver closer to his ear, hoping to catch whatever his father is trying to say.

_"Forty-four, tw…ty three, twenty eight, no…one-oh-five, fo…ty-two, seven…-eight, wes…"_

"What?" Dean asks. John repeats through the static once more. Knowing it could be important, Dean puts the phone down, tears off a piece of paper from his bulletin board, grabs the marker, and dashes back to the phone. He tries to listen again.

_"Forty-four, twenty-three, twen…-eight, n…one-oh-five, forty-two, seventy-eig…we…"_

 

 

Dean hurriedly notes down the numbers though he can't make sense of the 'n' and 'we'. "Dad, what are these?" he asks. "Dad?"

All Dean hears is static and then the call completely cuts off.

"Dad?!" he yells into the receiver. Breathing fast, he puts it back in place, his hands clutching the piece of paper with the numbers on it.

It was his dad. He'd know that voice anywhere. These numbers mean something. Something important. There's no other reason John would call up like this.

Dean gets to his feet, seeking the one person he knows who is smart and experienced enough to understand what any of this could mean.

**~o~**

"So you're telling me your dad called you on that phone in your room and all he said were these numbers?" Bobby Singer asks, a skeptical look on his face.

Dean nods. "Look, I know it sounds farfetched, okay? Especially after all the stupid-ass dead ends we hit with all our other leads. But believe me on this, Bobby. It was him. And all he kept saying were these numbers over and over again."

Bobby purses his lips, looking unconvinced.

"Look, if nothing turns up, this lead is a dead end anyway. But if you do manage to figure something out, this could be our one chance to finding him, Bobby. I lost my brother already," Dean says, heart heavy, "I don't wanna lose my dad, too. Bobby, I can't—" his voice catches in his throat as he looks away.

Bobby lets out a huff of breath. "Damn it, kid. There's no need to pull all this emotional crap. I'll see what I can find."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Get on outta here. I'll send someone for you if I find something."

Dean raises his hand in a salute and hurries out the door, heart going crazy as he hopes that Bobby will work it out. He spends the next couple of hours running errands and helping around the bunker, making sure everything is in order. Every time, he's tempted to walk over to Bobby's room and ask how things are coming along, but he knows better than to do that. He just hopes and hopes, again and again, that Bobby ends up finding something after all.

He's about to head out of the bunker again to get some supplies when he hears a shout from the library. He hurries over to find Charlie sprinting over to him.

"Dean!" she gasps as she stops in front of him. "Bobby…called…for…you. He said he figured out….the thing you….gave him," she pants, her hands on her knees, hunched over.

Dean immediately starts jogging over to Bobby's room, shouting a thank you over his shoulder to Charlie. He skids across the floorboards a little as he slows down near Bobby's room and finally knocks on the door before entering.

"What'd you find?" Dean asks, slightly out of breath.

"Geez, kid, take a breather, would ya? It ain't gonna take me long to explain. Sit your ass down," Bobby says, pointing to the chair near his bed.

Dean takes a seat, nervous.

Bobby brings out the paper Dean had brought him earlier, as well as one of his own.

"At first, I thought they could be a combination to something since a few hunters I knew before I got here had storage lockers somewhere deep within the destroyed cities, which usually had combinations to open 'em up. Then it hit me. They're coordinates, Dean."

Dean's mouth falls open in surprise. "Coordinates? Like an actual location?"

"That, I don't know. You'll probably hafta get a map out an' see. But see, these are coordinates. The 'n' means north and 'we' probably means west. I don't think these numbers could mean anythin' else," Bobby explains, holding out his sheet of paper.

"So," Dean says, "Forty-four, twenty-three, twenty-eight, north and one-oh-five, forty-two, seventy-eight, west?"

"That's all I got, kid. Maybe you can figure the rest out."

Dean smiles genuinely for the first time in months. "Thanks a lot, Bobby. I owe you," he says as he gets to his feet and gives Bobby one last look before hurrying out of the room. He practically sprints to the library of the bunker, footsteps echoing in the hallway.

He immediately makes his way to one of the bookshelves and pulls out a map from the middle shelf. He opens it up and lays it out on the table, grabbing a marker from the pen stand set on the table near the lamp in the center of the table.

For once, even though it hurts just thinking about it, he's glad that he'd paid attention when Sam had been showing Dean different ways to read maps right after learning it from Bobby.

He makes a mental note to make it up to Bobby once he finds his dad.

After a few minutes of mumbling the coordinates over and over under his breath, he pinpoints the location. He stares in disbelief when he realizes how far John had ended up from the bunker.

At that moment, Jo and Charlie decide to enter the library. "So what did you find?" Jo asks.

Dean raises his eyebrows in confusion. So far, he'd thought only Charlie knew about the clue he'd given to Bobby.

"I told her and Kevin. That you'd gotten a solid lead and given it to Bobby. I hope that's okay."

"Nah, its fine. You guys have been a lot of help. You deserve to know," he says, still staring at the location on the map.

Charlie and Jo walk over. "Holy shit, are you serious?" Jo exclaims.

"Yeah. Dad left coordinates, which Bobby figured out." Dean swallows as he points to the place on the map. "They point to Sleepy Hollow, Wyoming."

**~o~**

Dean yawns and rubs his eyes as he keeps the car steady on the road. It's been almost nine hours since he left the bunker back in Kansas. He's an hour away from Sleepy Hollow after crossing state lines to Wyoming.

The rational side of his brain tells him that he probably should stop and take a break, maybe sleep a while since he's now been driving for nine hours. But he just has this feeling like he needs to get there as soon as possible. Or else everything is going to slip upside down. And after years of living in this fucked up world, he's learned to trust those instincts.

Along with Charlie, Jo, and Kevin, a lot of the older hunters had wanted to come along, too, especially Bobby. But Dean knew he needed to do this himself. Because if he didn't find John, it would be a waste. And at least no one would be there to see the guilt and disappointment on his face.

If he did find John, then Dean was sure that the less amount of people around, the better, since these were dangerous roads to be driving and travelling on with demons around every other corner.

If worse came to worst, he'd be dead. And he was okay with that.

The bunker needed people like Bobby. Experienced, rational, smart, and caring. And Dean would rather it be him getting killed or lost than Bobby.

Dean mentally shakes himself, trying to concentrate on just finding his father, for now.

About fifteen minutes from his destination, Dean decides to park his baby in a secluded, hidden alleyway and walk the rest of the way. He pulls his gun out of his holster and tucks it into his jacket along with his palm, undoing the safety while walking as much as he can in the shadows. He wants to be safe and find Dad without having to use it, though. Even then, you never knew what might pop out at you and want to kill you in times like these.

Even though he's been on his fair share of hunts with his father and other hunters, Dean's never gotten used to seeing the devastation the demons have caused. The place looks deserted; houses crumbling, shops broken into and isolated, cars lying haphazardly on the street, some even overturned and blackened due to an explosion.

Dean tries not to spot the specks of blood he knows are around. The demons probably either killed or drove everyone out of this town.

He's in the general area of the coordinates. Now all he has to do is dig around a little and hopefully find his father and get out of this freaking place. He climbs over a large pile of debris and startles, spotting a man in a suit coming out of an adjacent home a couple of feet ahead. He immediately jumps down and ducks behind an overturned car, peeking through the smashed up windows.

The first man is followed by another, this one wearing casual clothes. They both look to be around their late twenties.

Dean is almost certain they're demons, and his fears are confirmed when one of them looks in Dean's general direction and his eyes are pitch black. Dean shudders, hoping that they don't walk his way.

He watches as the suited guy wipes his bloody, ragged blade with the other one's jacket. The other one grumbles under his breath but doesn't say much.

"The job is done," says the suited demon.

His partner grins. "Boss will be pleased."

Dean stills, heart hammering as he watches them go. What job? Who would they kill in a deserted town like this? Although he knows that he's in the dark about this, he's still got to check the alleyway, he realizes. He waits until the demons turn the corner at the end of the road. Once they're out of sight, Dean slowly crawls out from behind the car and jogs over to the house. He looks around, making sure no one is there, before finally taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Holding his gun out for precaution, he stands at the entrance, trying to get his bearings. He then spots drops of blood on the ground, leading down a hallway to his right. The demon obviously didn't think anyone was going to come in here.

Slightly scared of what he'll find, Dean follows the blood drops, trying to make as little noise as possible since he definitely isn't the only one in here.

The blood leads into a room, the door of which is slightly ajar. Dean can hear grunts and irregular breathing. His heart speeds up as he immediately recognizes the grunts of pain.

"No," he whispers as he steels himself, slowly pushing the door open with his gun. He walks in and sees his father lying in a small pool of blood on the other side of the door, hand clenched over a bloodied and ragged wound on his chest.

"Dad?!" Dean calls out, fear and relief lacing his tone.

John jumps and groans as the movement causes him pain. "De'n?" he calls out, squinting.

Dean kneels down next to his father, putting his gun back in its holster. "Shit," he curses as he eyes the small cuts all over John's arms and the bruises on his face. "Dad, what the fuck happened? Crap. I need to get you out of here."

"De'n. I'm….I'll be o-okay. I need to tell you somethin'."

Dean glares. "Shut up. For once, you're gonna listen to me. It's not safe here. Those guys could come back. Let me get you out of here and you can tell me everything," Dean says, stern. Yet his hands are gentle as he slowly helps John get to his feet. He leans his father against the wall while he takes off his jacket and then his over shirt. He bundles it up after putting his jacket back on and gives it to John, helping his father hold it against the still bleeding wound on his torso, which is causing a high amount of concern for Dean.

"Okay, baby steps, all right? The car's only a couple of minutes from here. We get there and you can tell me whatever it is you need to, okay?" Dean explains.

John nods, upping Dean's fear that things are a lot worse than he'd originally thought. Dean supports John as they head out of the house. Dean stows his fear and anxiety at the back of his mind and does his best to keep his head in the game and make their way back to the car alive.

They're about three minutes away when John finally says, "Thanks."

"What for?" Dean grunts, trying to support his father's weight as much as he can.

"For comin' to save my sorry ass. I didn't think those…coordinates wen' through," John says, breathing heavily.

"Shut up. In case you didn't know, you've been gone six months and there hasn't been a day we haven't looked for you."

"Huh." John says nothing further as he stumbles alongside Dean, his grip on the shirt near his wound weakening with each passing second.

They enter the alleyway where Dean had parked the car when John starts listing to the side. Dean can't hold both of their weights, and he crashes into the wall along with his father. John slides to the ground, eyes closing.

"Dad?! Don't you do this to me! You're okay. You're gonna be okay!"

"De'n. I need to…"

"What? What do you need?" Dean asks, wanting to get the first aid kit from the trunk but too scared to leave John in this state.

"Sam. Sammy's….alive."

Dean's heart drops to his stomach. What the fuck is his dad talking about? "Dad, you're not making sense," Dean states, his voice shaking.

"Sam. Alive. In a…camp," John wheezes.

"What? Like a demon camp?" Dean asks, an array of emotions assaulting him all at once. "Look, let me get you fixed up first," Dean says, finally making the decision to run to the car. He's half on his feet when he feels John's surprisingly strong grip on his arm.

"No. It's…important. Sam's alive. You need…you need to do something…for me. F-for him."

"What?" Dean's voice cracks.

"Save him. Save Sammy…or kill him."

Dean's heart drops to his feet. "What the fuck, Dad? Why the fuck would I kill him? Do you even know where he is?!" Dean exclaims. He's scared. Fucking scared out of his mind. What the fuck is going on?

"You'll understand…when you see…him. Save him…or kill him."

Dean grits his teeth. "Fine. Where is he?" he asks, and then his eyes go wide when John slides towards the ground, his ragged breathing now having stopped. A deafening silence fills the alleyway.

"No, no, no. Dad?! Dad!" Dean yells as he shakes his father. He takes a deep breath, letting his instincts click into place. He puts two fingers to the side of John's neck.

His pulse is too weak.

"Shit. Dad?! Don't do this to me, please," Dean chokes out, doing his best to keep the tears at bay as they blur his vision. He swipes at his eyes hastily.

"De'n." Dean jumps as he hears the weak call from his father. He leans towards John, trying to make sense of his whispers.

"Sam… Hell." John takes a huge, gasping breath and Dean's chin trembles as he grabs on to Dean's collar.

" _H-Hell…_ " he rasps, the last of his breaths leaving him with the word.

 


	3. 3. But He Found Hell Instead

Dean is sitting in the woods outside the bunker when Charlie finds him. He leans his head against a tree, feeling the coarse bark rub against his back, watching her approach, and swiping quickly at the dampness on his cheeks. He doesn't need anyone else to see how broken he feels right now. Besides, he's not spoken to her in a while. Not since John had called him to Wyoming a few days ago.

Some research and wheedling of other hunters revealed that even _Hell_ —that goddamned camp—is in Wyoming. Had Dean known, he'd never have returned to the bunker.

Charlie had watched him quietly while they'd burned John's body, and Dean had just stood there in the front, hands in his pockets, thinking of four years ago, when they'd lost Sam. But now, according to his dad, Sam's alive and in one of those demon camps? Even better, a camp they've never even heard of?

How is there a whole _camp_ that no one knows of?

 _Hell_. He can still hear his father's rasping, dying voice pronouncing that terrifying word. Hell. How many times had Dean, in a heated argument with Sam, just said, "go to hell" or something similar? How many times had he wished for Sam to just leave him alone for a while? His dad to leave him alone for a while?

And so, here he is, left alone, not for a while but for a whole eternity, by his family. Like Charlie.

Charlie doesn't talk as she pats at the ground beside Dean and sits there, leaning herself against the tree. Dean casts a glance at her and then looks ahead, at the setting sun. He's packed his stuff and is in the mood to leave the bunker right the fuck now, but Bobby's asked him to stay the night, rest, and then go. Bobby even said he'd accompany Dean, but Dean's brushed him off. He isn't going to let anyone but himself die over this rescue mission, if it even really is one.

Because, is Sammy really even alive?

"You know," Charlie says suddenly, pulling Dean out of his thoughts, "when I first met you at training, I thought you were a jerk."

Dean smiles a little, doesn't look at her. She pushes closer, nudges his shoulder once, and clears her throat. "Anyway," she says, "I got us something."

He turns, finally, and she's smiling as she produces a bottle of vodka from her jacket pocket. "Kevin and Jo are getting us some more," she tells him happily.

Dean chuckles. "You're twenty-one, and you couldn't smuggle a couple of drinks?"

"Hey!" She crosses her arms, glaring at him. "I wanted to talk without getting drunk. Give me some credit!"

He shakes his head. "Can we not?"

"Talk?" Charlie raises an eyebrow. "We're already talking, dumbass."

"You know what I mean."

She goes quiet for a moment, and sighs. "I know what you mean."

"Then—"

"Dean," she says, "fuck, man, it's not your fault."

"I never said it was." Dean feels his lips quirk up in a smile. "You're losing your touch, kiddo."

She shakes her head, and passes him the bottle. "Drink. Like Bobby says, medicine to the soul."

"I hate vodka."

"I know you're a whiskey kind of guy, but—"

"I'm okay, Charlie," he tells her. "I really am."

"Why do you think I'm here for a pity party?" she asks him. "I'm here to talk. About the shit that needs to happen."

"Like?"

"Like you not beating yourself up if you can't find Sam."

 _Save Sam, or kill him._ John's words echo in Dean's ears, and he ducks his head from Charlie's gaze, drawing his fingers over the dried, crunchy leaves on the ground. He doesn't know what the fuck that was supposed to mean, and why John would even expect him to kill his little brother if he actually found him after four fucking years, but there you go.

Cynical, dead-people shit.

Dean wants to yell at his dad right now. He wants to rage and scream, and tell him that this is fucked up, and that you don't ask your kid to kill your other kid, who everyone thinks has been dead for four years now. They had a memorial for Sam. They fucking mourned him. Every goddamn thing kept reminding Dean of how his brother wasn't around anymore. Dean went through hell—oh God, _devastating_ shit thinking of his dead brother, and all his dad does is die on him, four years later after laying this crap on his shoulders?

'Save your little brother, who you were protecting for eighteen fucking years of your life, or kill him.' You don't just fucking say that as your last words while you die.

"Hey," Charlie speaks up suddenly, breaking Dean out of his reverie. "You listening?"

"Yeah," he lies.

"The other thing I want to say is," she pauses, and he turns as she takes a deep breath, startling him when tears start to fill up her eyes. She licks her lip. "Come back alive, okay?"

His mouth falls open slightly. He can hear the hidden words in what she said, what he knows is mostly true for her because they're like brother and sister, and even though she can't, she can never replace Sammy, she is something else to Dean. Someone else who is so very important; he doesn't know how he forgets sometimes.

_You are all I have._

Dean shakes his head at her and opens an arm, throwing it around her shoulders and pulling her in so that she's resting her head in the crook of his neck.

"I'll be back," he tells her, while she nods vigorously, letting out a small sniffle as she drags a sleeve underneath her eyes. "I'll bring Sammy along, too."

She loosens up a little, and turns her face so she can look him in the eye. "You sure about this?"

"Dad never said or did anything without reason, kiddo. He knew I'd go looking for Sammy, and he wouldn't say this just to waste my time. I'm sure he knew what was going on. Or at least, a part of it."

"If you say so."

She detaches herself from Dean, shutting her eyes briefly as she grinds the back of her head against the tree trunk. A twig snaps somewhere behind them, and Dean leans around the tree to see Jo and Kevin making their way to them, Jo carrying a six-pack, and Kevin a fifth of whiskey, that he lifts up in his hand and waves at Dean, smiling widely.

"Hey!" Dean calls out to them, watching as their shoes crunch on dry leaves, breaking them, heart growing lighter as they approach. They both come over and sit down in front of Charlie and Dean, placing their stuff in the space between them. Jo reaches for the inside pocket on her jacket and produces a bag of chips.

Dean grabs a beer and pops the cap with his ring, placing his lips thirstily to the rim to drink. "So," he says, clearing his throat after he takes a swig, "you guys throwin' me a treat for my possible last day on this earth?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Jo replies, voice drawling as she rakes back strands of blonde hair from her face.

"Aw, you're not going to miss me?" Dean asks her.

"You think too much of yourself."

Dean grins, one side of his mouth curving up, as he leans close to Jo. "Really?" he asks her, voice going down to a low murmur.

She winks at him. "Still got all that self-respect, Dean," she pauses, then sighs, and leans forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Come back, okay?"

Dean nods, unable to promise anything. He swallows and changes the subject. "So you're just not into me, or—?"

"You're my friend," she replies, eyes going soft. "Let's keep it like that?"

He holds her gaze for a whole moment, and then nods. She gives him a relieved smile and leans back, while she accepts a beer from Kevin, the last of the orange rays of the sun catching in her hair, and then sparkling out from her beer as she holds her own bottle to her lips. They drink, the four of them, and it's a lazy evening. No one asks them why they reek of a distillery when they get back to the bunker, and when Dean goes to sleep, he doesn't dream for the first time in many nights.

The next morning, Bobby is waiting outside in the war room while Dean gathers his duffel and his car keys, and he joins Dean when he walks to the garage. Dean unlocks his Impala and then looks back at his surrogate father, finding himself at a loss for what to say, when Bobby moves a step forward, and pulls him into a hug.

Dean is startled for a moment, but then he brings his arms around Bobby and holds on. He knows what's bound to happen to him in the near future, and he knows Bobby knows, too. Everybody knows about it. However, Dean's ready to do anything for his little brother, including cutting his own life short trying to find Sam. Because, really, that's all Dean had come to the bunker with—his family—and now that they're gone, he doesn't know what else to do. And if he somehow succeeds in bringing even one part of that family back, it'll make all the difference in the world.

Bobby lets go, eyes serious but expression gentle. "You listen to me, boy," he says in a low growl, "you'd better get back here with that damn idjit brother of yers. You die on me and I'll find yer ass an' shoot ya up with buck shots when I get topside myself."

It's supposed to be funny; something to lighten the mood and encourage them both, but it's not. Dean can feel his throat tightening at Bobby's words, but he nods. "Yes, sir."

"Good."

Dean waves at Bobby and gets into the Impala, looking around for, what could be, the last time. He feels a sense of finality about it all; about this place and his friends and Bobby, and he hopes to goddamn hell that Sam's still alive.

 _Hell_ ; that's funny. Because Sam's supposedly in Hell.

Dean just drives on faster than he ever has.

**~o~**

It takes about eleven hours for Dean to reach Wyoming again, and that includes the break he has to take to eat. He drives his car towards Hulett, his heart beating fast as he approaches it. The city is filled with demons, Hulett being Azazel's home, and there are no ghettos in the whole of Wyoming, because even the ones that were there were wiped out years ago. Dean doesn't know how he's going to fool all these fuckers and get to Hell, and he hopes his weak plan will at least be a little useful right now. At the moment, it's all he's got.

There is no one to check him or his car when he enters, and Dean thinks for a minute, just for a minute, that maybe he'll get away with this. The city is pretty much deserted, full of bars and brothels, and the air reeks of rotting flesh and blood. Dean swallows in a breath and spots a bar. It's small and seedy and looks like it's the perfect hiding place. So he stops outside, shoves a gun into his waistband, recites a small prayer to any fucking entity that might be listening, and enters the bar.

The strong smell of cigarette smoke assaults Dean's nostrils the moment he enters and he chokes a cough into his sleeve, looking around, watching a few demons play pool. There are some others seated at the tables, and the demon closest to him flashes him a black-eyed smile. She's occupying the body of a pretty, young, white woman with wavy dark hair, and a round face. Her smile is a little sarcastic, as though she's amused at Dean's presence there, and Dean feels a chill tumble down his spine as he smiles back unsurely and rushes to grab a drink.

He's fingering his shot glass, watching the honey-coloured whiskey in it, when he feels someone pull up a seat beside his. Dean turns to see the same demon who'd smiled at him as he'd entered. She signals for a drink, too, and extends a hand towards Dean. "Meg."

He swallows, feeling her soft, cold hand in his. "D-Dean."

"I've not seen you around much," she says. "You new?"

"Kinda."

"Who're you from?"

Dean swallows. "Who 'm—?"

"Crowley? Abaddon? Alastair? Lilith?"

"Oh." Dean chuckles, licking his lips, trying to look as nervous as possible for a newbie demon in Azazel's city, though he doesn't need to put too much acting into it. "Crowley." He pauses. "Uh… listen… is it—where's Hell?"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Crowley sent you?" she asks, lowering her voice.

"Is it-is—?"

"Keep your voice down," she hisses. "What did Crowley say?"

"He, um…" Dean excavates his brain for an explanation. "He… there's a job, I think. He didn't say."

She purses her lips, fingering at a lock of hair. "And you said you're new."

"Yeah. I… yeah."

Meg casts a quick glance at the bartender, drains her drink in one go, and starts getting off. "You come with me," she tells him quietly.

Dean abandons his whiskey and rushes after her, ignoring the bartender's demand for payment. She leads him out the door and he keeps walking beside her, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to keep his heart from beating too fast, or himself from hyperventilating. He can't freaking believe she bought that. Now what?

They're turning a corner, going down a lane leading down to a big house, when Meg gets a good, long look at Dean. "So what's with the meat suit?" she asks him, slightly out-of-breath from their brisk steps. "Where did you wing this one?"

Dean bites the inside of his cheek, and smiles as triumphantly as he can. "He was at a ghetto we took down. Young buck scored a lot with the ladies. I reckoned, why not?"

She hums appreciatively at his answer. "Good choice," she tells him. "We'll exchange once we're done talking to my dad. And," her lip quirks up in a half-smile as she turns to him, eyes black again, "you know, we've got someone like you at the camp, too. You'll like him. He has your jawline, and your crappy taste in plaid. And then, like you, he's a total idiot too."

Dean's mouth is agape before he can realize it. Her _dad_? Camp? And… what was she…?

A fist connects with his jaw before he can think or respond and he's thrown back, head colliding against a brick wall hard and fast. His knees buckle, black spots entering his vision, and he just barely makes out Meg as she comes to stand over him, hands on her hips, and a wide smile on her face.

"Deano, Deano," she says, in a singsong voice. "You didn't honestly think that the crap you just tried to pull would get you to your brother, did you? Oh, and yes, what you're thinking is true. Azazel is my dad."

Her words echo in Dean's ear, just as he loses himself to the beckoning, comfortable blackness.

**~o~**

When he comes to, Dean's entire body is pounding mercilessly. It's like déjà vu, the feeling, and he can remember so clearly, something similar happening all those years go, when Sam had been gone.

When Sam had been taken.

His eyes are heavy, and Dean really wants to open them, but he can't. His mouth tastes like ass; he's been drugged, he thinks, and when he tries to move his hands, he realizes that he's been handcuffed, and is actually bound to a chair. And everything; fucking _everything_ hurts.

The whole thing with Meg comes back to him like a bad, bad movie.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. What the hell was he thinking, trying to make a fool of a demon like that? And Azazel's daughter? When the fuck did Azazel even have kids?

He tries to struggle against the handcuffs, opening his eyes against everything that's dumbing him down, and the first thing that hits his already fragile vision is a bright, bright light.

"Oh, he's with us," says a voice that Dean doesn't recognize, and he blinks, trying to adjust to the stupid fucking light, but it dims himself. A pair of yellow eyes is peering back at Dean, and as his vision gets less blurry, he notices that they belong to a douche-y face that makes Dean cringe. He knows who this is, even though he's never actually seen the face for himself. The stories about this asshole and his eyes are everywhere.

"Dean Winchester," Azazel tells him in a slow, rumbling voice, simmering with sarcasm and triumph. "Man of the hour."

Dean wants to retort, but his mouth still won't move.

Azazel stands up, puts his hands behind his back. "Funny thing is," he says, "we demons actually have faces. Faces that aren't these meat suits. You humans can't make them out, but we can." He grins. "You should have done your research, Sport, because you were dead the moment my daughter saw you at the bar." He waits, as though he's listening for an answer, and shrugs.

"Anyway. I know what you're here for."

Dean's tongue really does unstick from the roof of his mouth this time. "H-How?"

"Your brother is back at the camp," Azazel tells him. "You know about that one now, don't you? Hell?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "It's true, yes, and it really does exist. I have huge plans for your brother, Dean. And if Mommy hadn't interrupted me that night, you wouldn't have even known—"

Anger pulsates up Dean's veins. "You son of a bitch—"

"—I know you're here for Sam," Azazel tells him, interrupting Dean. "And I'll take you there."

Dean's eyes widen. "Why?"

"To show you what a mistake your Mommy made that night." Azazel's eyes flash deeper, yellower if possible, and the smile that he's wearing makes Dean's skin crawl. What is this asshole talking about? Why is he saying all this? What's Sam been up to? Is he okay?.

"Your brother is more than okay, Champ, even though Mommy should really have just let me take him. But then again, we do kill all hunters without exception, so maybe she did a good thing, too. I wouldn't know."

The relish, the caress in Azazel's voice is so real, so palpable, that Dean wants to gag. He tries to stop the thoughts racing in his head; about Sam, about the possibilities, and watches as Azazel turns to the others in the room. He beckons to two demons behind him, and they come forward to start undoing Dean's handcuffs, and the ropes that are binding his legs to the chair.

"Let me show you," Azazel tells Dean as he slowly stands up, heart going faster in his chest than it ever has.

It's in that moment, when he sees the smugness in Azazel's fucking jaundice-yellow eyes, that Dean understands why his dad had told him what he said about Sam. Sam might not be Sam. Sam was… one of these people now.

Dean will never kill Sam, though. Not even if Hell freezes over. And if that means he's about to die, then so be it.

**~o~**

The stink of sulphur is pungent and assaulting to Dean's nostrils as he follows Azazel, flanked by the demon's equally-stinky minions as they walk inside a dark, dank tunnel. They drove down from Azazel's place, a ten-minute drive with a blindfold over Dean's eyes, and he counted thirteen minutes. He also kept track of the precise number of turns they'd taken, and how much they had walked once out of the tunnel. When they took the blindfold off, they were already in the tunnel.

Dean's stomach is churning, the burger he'd had for lunch at a ghetto on the way sloshing threateningly as he thinks of what Azazel just said about Sam. Will he even be able to recognise Sam? Will Sam recognise him, or is he so far gone—so trained in evil—that he won't even know who Dean is?

He hesitates. Why is he even thinking of Sam as evil? It's possible… it's entirely possible… that…

He swallows. He can't think of what else could be possible.

The demon behind him nudges him when he slows down and he huffs a tired sigh as he continues walking. Distantly, Dean can hear people roaring and cheering, and he wonders where they're heading. In front of him, Azazel starts to talk.

"I built my camp in and around Devils Tower. You know what that is?"

Dean's heard of it. He knows it's very close to Hulett, and he looks around. Holy crap, is that where he is? He looks up at Azazel and narrows his eyes. "You're a peacocking son of a bitch."

"Oh, you really think so?" Azazel asks him in a menacing voice.

Dean tries to snort, tries to sound brave. "Hell? Devils Tower? I know you're an asshole, but the names make it douchier."

He gets a chuckle in return. "We'll see," Azazel tells him, "we'll see whether all that snark and the rough exterior stays with you once we're topside, Dean-o. We're very close to your brother now."

The cheering is getting louder by the second, and Dean's breath catches in his throat. "What?"

"You can hear the applause, can't you?" Azazel asks him, turning around and smirking. "Who do you think it's for?"

The tunnel starts to end, light flooding in from the opening, and Dean listens to the chant of the crowd as they near it.

_Se-ven, se-ven, se-ven!_

What the fuck?

"We have a tradition here," Azazel tells him. "When the slaves misbehave or disobey, we throw them to our special children."

_Se-ven, se-ven, se-ven!_

"And, guess who Seven is, Sport."

There is a burst of applause just when they come out of the tunnel, straight into an arena, and Dean finds himself on the bottom-most row, staring at the wide field in front of him. On one side, there's an old man, scared and shaking, and on the other—on the other side is the reason why the crowd is applauding, banging and stamping their feet on the stalls, cheering, hooting catcalling, and Dean sees him. Dean sees his brother.

_Se-ven, se-ven, se-ven!_

**~o~**

Dean is seated before his knees can buckle, staring at the new entry at the far corner, mouth agape. He can feel Azazel's eyes on him, triumphant and smug, and Dean wants to clock him, and take Sammy and run, but this is, this is—

Dean can't even describe it. Sam's not Sam. He's about half a foot taller than when Dean last saw him, hair overgrown and shaggy, flopping against his movements as he growls, snapping his teeth and whipping his face about. He is well-built, in a dirty t-shirt and jeans, eyes full of malice, and Dean can see the iron collars around Sam's neck and ankles, dragging chains behind him as he fixes his eyes only and only on the poor slave, face spelling murder.

Goosebumps run up Dean's arms as his stomach turns. This is—this is not supposed to be Sam. Sam's supposed to be a smartass and a shy kid at the same time, not willing to hurt a hair on anyone's head, but dangerous all the same. He's silent, manipulative and lethal, as opposed to Dean's open anger, hate and killer instincts, and Dean had always thought that all their enemies should fear Sam more, but not like this. Not like this.

"Surprised?" Azazel asks him. "I was, too. Once we started training him, he was absolutely _fatal_. One of our best."

"Shut up," Dean growls, voice coming low from his throat. "I will bust him outta here and kill you, you asshole."

Azazel turns around to look at him, yellow eyes meeting with Dean's and laced with amusement. "Are you actually threatening me, Dean? In my own camp? When your brother is under my control?"

"I fucking am," Dean spits back at him. "I'll take him away from here. I know what you've done to him. You'll have both of us to deal with. Me, and my _fatal_ brother."

Azazel snorts. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Dean-o. I could kill both of you right here, right now, and you know it."

"Then you'd better," Dean replies. "Because, if we bust out—and we will— _you're_ dead."

Azazel seems to think about that for a moment. His forehead creases as he takes a breath, and then turns again to Dean. "You know what? You're lucky. I'll take that challenge and make you a deal."

"What deal?" Dean asks him, feeling his eyes narrow as the hairs on his neck stand, an unholy instinct of self-preservation taking over. He knows that he's stupid; that he's doing the fucking stupidest thing. He looks back at Sam, who's being undone from each shackle by a trench-coated guard, the crowd's incessant roars a dull throb to his ears now.

"I'll let you sleep in Sam's uh… quarters tonight," Azazel tells Dean. The trench-coated dude then takes the shackles away and presses a hand to Sam's shoulder, who just flashes him a menacing face.

 _Who is this asshole groping his brother?_ Dean wonders, and, making a mental note to kill him, nods at Azazel. "That's it?"

"No, there's another part, if you're not too busy staring at Castiel," Azazel tells him sarcastically.

Dean edits previously made mental note. _Kill Castiel._

Azazel clears his throat. "If you get baby brother to recognise you in twenty-four hours, you're free. Both of you. If not…"

"You kill us," Dean finishes for Azazel, eyes never leaving Castiel, who's trying to talk to Sam now.

"Exactly. So what do you say?"

"Deal," Dean tells him, and to another roar from the crowd, Azazel signals for the showdown to begin. Dean watches Sam's face stretch into a mad leer as he looks at the slave, and then at Castiel, whose back is retreating to where Sam seemed to have come from. He swears to himself that he's going to get Sammy out of here. Even if he has to die doing it.

_Save Sam, or kill him._

Dean definitely knows what his dad meant now.

**~o~**

_Se-ven, se-even, se-ven!_

Dean's hands are shaking as they rest on his knees. He watches Sam throw his head back, shaking away his fringe and his fists clench and unclench, tendons standing stark at the back of his palm as he starts to walk towards the old slave.

Dean wants to call out to his brother, tell him not to do this, but he's terrified. Something's numbed him all over, and Sam keeps advancing on the old man, not sparing a glance at the audience, because Dean knows that if Sammy sees him, just once, maybe… maybe…

The slave is throwing up his hands in defence, watching Sam come at him. Sam stops when he's close enough, towering over the other man (Jesus, how tall is this kid?). The crowd lets out a fresh wave of cheers as Sam scrutinises him and then leers a wide, menacing grin. His eyes narrow, expression darkening, and the dimples that accentuated his innocence as a child stand there, emerging with his smile, but for the first time, they make him look dangerous.

Dean realises, belatedly, that his body has erupted in goosebumps.

_Se-ven, se-ven, se-ven!_

In one quick motion, Sam pushes the man, huge palms shoving at a thin chest. The man stumbles, and Sam pushes him again before moving forward to catch his wrist. He ignores the struggling while the man tries to escape, ignores the weak punches and scratches in his direction as he twists his arm and turns him around. He pulls him back, and Dean watches in horror as Sam's hand goes to cup the man's jaw.

"NO!" He's up on his feet, hand reaching out to Sam, his voice unheard in the roaring and hooting, and Dean sees it. Sees Sam twist the man's neck and break it like he's snapping a toothpick. Watches him push the now-dead man to the ground and bare his teeth at the crowd, to more roaring and cheering.

Dean's head spins. _Sam. Sammy. No. Oh, God._ What have they done to him?

Castiel comes in while the crowd gets up, still cheering out their amusement and enjoyment, and Dean slumps back onto his seat, feeling Azazel's eyes on him. He doesn't look back at the demon, though. He only watches as Castiel touches Sam's shoulder, only to be snapped and growled at. Castiel remains nonchalant while he slips the manacles and chains back on Sam, and gestures for them to leave.

"Send him to Nick in the evening," says a vague voice beside Dean, and he snaps out of it, watching Sam's retreating back vanish into where he came from, and he turns to Azazel. "You son of a bitch," he snarls. "What have you done to my brother?"

Azazel tilts his head and folds his arms across his chest. "I just made him see his potential, Dean," he replies. "Now, are you ready to start working on that deal I made you? Ready to spend a day with that monster of a baby brother?"

"Fuck you. Sam's not a monster," Dean snaps at him. "And take me there, you bastard. Because I'd love to watch you fail."

Azazel narrows his eyes. "Oh, we'll see about that, won't we, Dean? We'll see about that." He stands up, as do the other demons, and with his heart thumping against his chest, Dean follows Azazel again. This time, truly to his little brother.

**~o~**

They cross the arena and find the door that Sam had come in from, and the demons lead Dean up to an elevator. He feels claustrophobic, knowing that he's inside a rock, and Dean folds his arms across his chest, dreading the conditions that Sam's been living in all these years. When they finally stop it's at the sixth floor, and Dean braces himself while the doors open.

The landing is quiet. Dean swallows a gasp when he gets out, for all around him are cages. Cages lining the walls, like prison cells, only, they're actually _cages_ , like they're holding animals of some sort. Each cage is numbered, the occupants either sleeping or sitting on one side, and Dean looks at the cage numbered seven, where Sam's being freed from his chains. Cage number eight is empty, while six has another young man, sitting in a corner with his face buried in his knees.

Castiel crouches before Sam, his trench coat fanning over the stone floor while he connects Sam to the manacles pegged to the wall. A small window sits on the wall behind the cage, throwing in a golden stream of light, which colours Sam's hair honey-brown. Up close, Sam's sweaty and injured, cuts and bruises; old and new covering almost every inch of his skin. Dean watches his brother, looks at the wide eyes, and wonders how Sam had killed someone just minutes ago, because right now, he just seems so meek and vulnerable.

Castiel collects the chains and stands up, bowing his head slightly when he sees Azazel, blue eyes flashing once to meet Dean's gaze. Dean feels a jolt in his body, as though Castiel is searching his soul and he looks away, the hairs at the back of his neck rising. Once Castiel is out of the cage, Azazel gives Dean a nudge. "This is the moment that I start timing our deal," he says. "Twenty-four hours."

Dean glares at him, and then looks at his brother's cage. "Got it," he says. "Now let me in."

Azazel's douchey smile is back. "This might be your worst mistake yet, Dean-o," he says in a singsong voice.

Dean snorts at him. "Or yours. We'll see."

"That we will."


	4. He Knew Their Suffering

"You are Dean Winchester."

Dean jolts at the gravelly, grating voice by his side, eyes momentarily leaving his sleeping brother. Sam had curled up as soon as he'd gotten into the cage and by the time they'd let Dean in, too, he was sleeping. Ever since, Dean had taken to a corner of the cage and had just watched over his brother, occasionally casting glances for signs of distress, and otherwise, just staring into nothing and waiting for Sam to indicate that he's awake.

Presently, he turns to the source of the voice, and sees that Castiel has drawn his chair closer to the cage. He's the guard, Dean realises, Sam's guard, really, and he works to keep Sam away from everyone else. Each cage has someone like this, watching over the occupant.

Castiel tilts his head as he narrows his eyes at Dean. "Aren't you?"

Dean shrugs. "Guess I'm famous."

"Sam used to ask for you," Castiel tells him. "I remember the first year."

"So you've been here the whole time?"

"Yes."

Dean swallows, and glances again at Sam, who shifts positions and mumbles something. He wants to get Sam out of here, smooth those lines of pain off his brother's face and take him someplace better, where Sam won't be treated like this. Where Sam can remember again. To a world where Azazel and the other demons are dead and no one will ever come after Sam.

"He only remembered me for a year, huh?"

"They brainwashed him," Castiel tells Dean. "You shouldn't blame him."

"Never said I'm blaming him for anything."

"I sense that you want to."

"Yeah, well," Dean says to Castiel, turning fully towards the guard, "it's my thoughts and my family and you've got nothing to do with it."

"If you understand what he's been through, you will not put Sam at fault. For forgetting."

"Won't I?"

Dean knows he's wrong to do this; _fuck_ , he knows he's wrong, but right now, blaming Sam seems to be the only thing he can do to feel better. He can't take much of anything, looking at how Sammy is and if he blames him, maybe, _maybe_ he won't feel like he's failed his brother and his father; the two people he's cared about in ways that scare even him sometimes.

"He's been through more than you can imagine," Castiel says in a low, gentle voice, and when Dean looks at him again, his blue eyes are resting on Sam. "Your brother is very brave."

Dean lets his lips slip in a half-smile. "I always knew that."

Castiel looks back up at Dean, and Dean finds himself uncomfortable again by the soul-searching gaze. He winds his arms around himself and rests his head on the cold, uncomfortable steel bar behind him, when Castiel speaks. "I don't think you get just how hard it's been for him."

"Yeah? And you think it was easy for me?"

"That's a very selfish thing to say." The guard sounds harsh, and his eyes are sparkling with the beginnings of anger. Dean wonders how one person can have so many things hidden _right there_ , in their eyes. "I don't doubt that you grieved, Dean," Castiel continues, "but your brother here has been tortured. He's been brainwashed and beaten and cut into, and if you were here and you had seen him struggle, you probably wouldn't say something quite so selfish."

Dean is taken aback at the anger in Castiel's voice, but he looks away and shuts his eyes momentarily. "Screw you," he says. "Don't act like you care."

"I care. About your brother. I have watched him for four years."

Dean chokes on a rush of laughter. "Yeah? Seriously? Is that why you're here as a guard? Is that why you chain him up and drag him around?"

"I have always treated your brother with respect," Castiel tells Dean, and Dean looks at him again, watching him shift from the shadows into a small slat of sunlight. It illuminates his face and neck, and Dean starts at what he sees there. A scar.

Almost like…

_No_.

"You-You—" Dean swallows. "You're not a demon."

Castiel bows his head slightly and nods. "I am an angel."

"No." Dean's gripping at the cold bar of the cage. "You guys—you were dead."

"No."

"They were sure."

Castiel steps forward, hands curled around the bars, towering over Dean, who is crouched on the floor. "Some of us were kept alive. This camp is special, and Azazel wanted guards who weren't just demons. He tried to strike a deal with my oldest brothers, Michael and Nick. They were the leaders of our army."

"And they agreed?" Dean asks him. "Your douchebag leaders sold us humans to these assholes?"

"Nick didn't care about human beings," Castiel replies. "You must understand, that even though we were made to not have emotions, each of us still harbours traces of it. Nick had his hatred, and it was stronger than everything else. He killed Michael and took the deal with Azazel."

Dean glances back at Sam, and then at Castiel. Maybe if he gets this dude to talk enough and gets to whatever emotional traces are left from Castiel's human side, he can take Sam and escape.

"We are all named after the Biblical angels," Castiel tells Dean. "Nick is particularly fierce, and his name was well thought-out."

"What, there's an angel called Nick out there?" Dean asks him.

One side of Castiel's chapped mouth quirks up in a smile. "No. His real name is Lucifer. Human beings referred to the real Lucifer as Satan. Or the Devil."

Dean's heart drops to his stomach. _Satan_. The name in itself is terrifying, daunting in a way, and he looks at Castiel, who stands there, sunlight falling on his sharp, stubbled jaw, eyes bluer than anything Dean has ever seen. His gaze falls to the scar on Castiel's neck as his mind processes the different ways to get Sammy out of this hellhole.

He crosses his arms. "Where's your Nick right now?"

He wonders if he imagines Castiel shuddering when he turns back to a door, hidden coyly behind one of the cages. Dean follows the direction in which Castiel is pointing and holds his eyes there, studying the wooden finish of it, and imagining the asshole sitting behind it.

"That's his office," says Castiel. "Nick likes to spend time with Azazel's special children."

"And-and what does he…?"

Castiel blinks, and Dean is sure that he isn't imagining the sympathy in his eyes right now. "On the best of the days, they get, as everyone says 'tamed'. On the worst… let's just say that Nick loves his meat hooks." He swallows. "It's actually your brother's turn next. With Nick. It's why his demeanour has suddenly changed. He knows what is coming and he's trying to conserve energy to fight back."

His eyes turn to Sam again and Dean follows, nausea tingling somewhere deep in his belly and his whole body trembling as his thoughts go in circles. Oh God. _Oh God_. No. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get Sam out of here. He cannot have his little brother take another day of this crap. He can't allow this. Can't let them do this to Sam.

He turns again to Castiel, holding the angel's gaze in his. "Do you really care about my brother?"

"Yes," Castiel replies, without hesitation.

Dean nods. "Then I need your help, Cas. I need you to help me get him out of here."

He feels something jolt inside him when Castiel's lips widen in a smile, eyes narrowing, crinkles appearing at their corners, and Dean has to take a step back at the genuineness of it all. " _What_?" he asks the angel guard, slightly irritated at the way he's behaving.

"No one's ever called me _Cas_ before," Castiel tells him. "You are so odd, Dean Winchester. And I will be happy to help you."

Dean just snorts at the nerdy freak before him and goes back to wait for Sam to get up. "Okay, time to make a fucking plan, then." Castiel smiles again and Dean looks away, wondering how odd it is that he's thinking about some dude's eye crinkles. Then he puts a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder and shuts his eyes, hoping he can think up a plan that will work in his and Sam's favour.

**~o~**

Turns out that the occupant of cage number eight is a girl. She's blonde and leggy and Dean would have hit on her if there weren't other pressing matters. She emerges from Nick's room, eyes rolling in their sockets while her body sways, dragged and kicked by two angels: one bald and black and the other tall and blond, younger, in a prissy suit. The black guard shoves her into the cage and Blondie, who seems to be the guard in charge of her, gets inside to chain her up.

She looks distressed and bloody, eyes half-mast as she lets out a pained cry at being dropped to the harsh stone floor. Blondie lets out a tutting sound at that, making Dean want to tear his throat out. He cuffs her neck and her ankles and she snarls weakly when she sees him, quickly silenced when he aims a kick at her stomach. Dean clenches his fists, and the asshole angel turns to him.

"What are you staring at?" he asks. "When Nick is ready again, it's going to be your precious little brother's turn so you don't need to look here for the drama, you know."

Sam stirs, eyes blinking open when the girl tries to sit up, chains clinking against each other.

"You don't need to assault her more than what she has to endure, Bartholomew," Castiel says, his voice cold. Dean watches as Sam starts to rise, head turned to the girl.

Bartholomew chuckles. "Always siding with the vermin aren't you, Castiel? I can understand if you sympathise with the slaves who are actually human, but these? These are monsters," he hisses.

"They're children," Castiel corrects him.

"Oh please, don't say you don't know what the boss does to them. They're _tamed_ in there by Nick for a reason. What do you think goes on when Azazel takes them for 'training'? Why do you think they come out all restless and angry?"

Dean averts his gaze from his struggling brother to look at the angel guards. Castiel's brows are furrowed in confusion, hands fiddling with the material of his trenchcoat. "Do you know what Azazel does to them?"

" _Everybody_ does. Grow up. Get yourself outside of that hole you live in and stop caring for that monster."

"Sam is not a monster."

"He is the same as Jessica. They're both monsters."

Jessica, Dean now notices as he looks at her again, has managed to crawl up to the edge of her cage, as has Sam. While Bartholomew and Castiel argue endlessly behind them about monsters, a bloody, manacled hand extends from Jessica's cage into Sam's.

For the first time that day, Dean sees his brother smile. He watches the dimples as they appear on Sam's sallow cheeks, as he interlinks his long fingers with hers. When he does, Jessica smiles too.

It's such a tender moment, so intimate on its own, that Dean's heart leaps and he turns away, feeling like he's invading something private. He thinks of all those years that Sam was stuck in here, and then of how he only had Jessica and the dude in that other cell to interact with, apart from Castiel. He notices that Jessica doesn't talk either, and wonders what their breaking point was, what made them all like this. He wonders if Sam ever thought that Dean would come and get him away from here. Wonders when Sam was forced to give up on those hopes.

Dean feels sick. He couldn't have known about this, but he should have. He couldn't have protected Sam, but he should have. _Four years_. Four years is just so, so long. It's been like an eternity, waiting on Sam, hoping he'll be back, and Dean was sitting in a goddamned bunker in a goddamned ghetto all these years, thinking he had it worse.

Castiel is right. Dean _is_ fucking selfish.

Sam has changed. Dean knows he's never going to get his little brother back again—not the way he used to be. Not that whining, grumbling, bitchy little brother who geeked out over stupid, old books and fought hand-to-hand all too gracefully for his size. Not that idiot who came red-faced after losing his virginity to Madison, and spent days worrying he'd gotten her pregnant because he hadn't been thoughtful enough to take some condoms with him.

Sam isn't Sam anymore. He is a broken shell of a person. A dude who goes from a rabid, growling killing machine one second to a scared kid the next.

"Hey!" Bartholomew's voice is harsh and Sam scrambles away from Jessica as soon as he hears him, both of them looking terrified. Thankfully, before the asshole can take any further action, he has to stop because the door to Nick's office flies open.

The black angel walks out, looking harried. "Castiel, bring out Winchester," he says, and Castiel presses his lips together, glancing at Sam, whose eyes have widened at the black guy.

"Uriel," Castiel replies, "Sam has just been to the arena. There's no need—"

"Nick's orders." Uriel looks all too happy to follow them.

Dean immediately moves to kneel in front of Sam, shielding him from all of them. "Don't touch him," he growls, his whole body clenching in, his muscles fluttering with the need to fight; to beat all these people's faces into a pulp.

"If you don't get him out, Castiel, I will," Uriel warns, ignoring Dean entirely. "We can't go through this nonsense every day. You know what needs to be done and you know it ends up happening, no matter what you say. So get this over with, or Nick gets the meat hooks out."

Castiel's eyes rove to meet Dean's, apology written on them as he sighs. "I have to take him in, Dean."

"Cas—"

"And here we have nicknames!" Uriel points out delightedly, his face breaking into a grin. "Did you get yourself some ass, _Cas_?"

"Shut up," Dean snaps at him. "My brother ain't going anywhere."

"Your _brother_ ," Uriel says, coming forward, "will do what he does every day. Just because he has a special guest, he is not excused. And if you don't move, I'll take him away by force."

"Oh, you can try me."

"You won't last a moment there. I'm an angel. Just move over."

Dean stands up and shakes his head. "No. Fight for it."

Uriel looks slightly bored. " _Cas_ , will you explain the situation to your boyfriend?"

"Dean."

"Shut up," Dean hisses at the guard. "I don't want to fucking listen about how important it is to fucking send Sam in there because you care in some weird way, and—"

"Nick isn't a patient man," Castiel says calmly, interrupting Dean. "He is not sympathetic. Let Sam go for now, and chances are, he'll get off easier."

Dean's throat is clogging, and he feels like he's going to suffocate from all this. How the fuck does Castiel expect him to just let his brother go? Just like that? And 'Nick will go easier'? Sam will only get beat up scared, as opposed to being strung by meat hooks and full-blown tortured? That's Dean's consolation for this?

Dean casts a glance at Jessica again, who's trying to lie down on her stomach, and for some reason, isn't rolling over to her back, agony written all over her face, and…

"That's it." Uriel gets into the cage, his shoulder nudging Dean harshly aside, and Dean watches as Sam starts crawling backwards in the cage.

Uriel, unperturbed, crouches over and undoes the chains. Sam snarls at him once, but Uriel glares, and Sam's silenced again. Dean is reaching towards the bastard, all ready to attack, when someone grabs his jacket and holds him back.

"Get off me!" he growls, trying to reach his brother while Uriel drags him out.

"It's for your own good," Castiel says, breath blowing in Dean's neck and ear as he keeps him back, hands fisted in Dean's jacket. "He will be all right. He's endured this for years, and he is stronger than you think."

"No." Sam is out of the cage now, stumbling to the doorway, and there's a lump in Dean's throat. "No."

"He'll be okay."

"No…"

Castiel gently pushes Dean back into the cage and works on locking it as Dean swears to himself to kill all of these bastards and make a messy job of it.

**~o~**

Dean is antsy and jumpy by the time Sam comes back. It's gotten dark outside and, like Jessica, Sam is swaying too. Castiel rushes up to Uriel to support him, his hands on Sam's biceps and waist much gentler than Uriel's. Dean is still mad at Cas, but these small things relieve him, make him think of the occasional reprieves Sam might have received over the years.

Uriel's face reads pure disgust as he lets go of Sam. Castiel supports Sam with one arm, starts to open the cage while Dean stands up. When Sam stumbles in, Dean puts his own arm around him immediately, leading him to his place alongside Castiel. His brother's skin and clothes are damp with sweat and blood and Sam's trembling underneath Dean's touch. There are welts on his skin, bruises on his face, cuts on his forearm with more dried blood staining them. Dean feels like he might puke.

"What does that asshole do to them in there?" Dean whispers to Castiel, his voice coming out choked and thick.

"I think you know," Castiel replies. "Dean, please don't ask me when you know." Dean turns around to look at him, and Castiel's eyes look pained.

They sit Sam down, who slumps forward while Dean crouches in front of him. Sam's face lands on Dean's shoulder and his first instinct is to push Sam away to see where he's hurt, but then he feels his brother trembling, shaking everywhere. Dean takes a shuddering breath before placing a hand on the base of Sam's skull.

"You're gonna be okay," Dean whispers to him as Castiel works the chains on. "I'll get you out of here."

Sam doesn't respond, seemingly a little comfortable in the world that is the crook of Dean's neck, and Dean adjusts himself to sit down on his haunches as he lets Sam stay there. He hears Sam sigh as he burrows his face into Dean's shoulder, and the gesture is so familiar that Dean looks up at Castiel hopefully. "I think he recognises me."

"He is just not used to kindness," Castiel replies, returning to his place outside the cage before starting to lock the doors. "He's in pain. He's a lot like a child, Dean. All these people—they're children. They're afraid. They mean no harm unless forced."

"I know that."

"He's latching on to you because you're kind," Castiel clarifies. "Not because he knows who you are. They made him forget— _forced_ him to forget. They've put him through endless psychological pain."

Dean nods, feeling a terrible prickling at the back of his eyes. "They'll have hell to pay for this, Cas." He falls quiet when he hears Sam's breath hitch, and Dean's hand moves down to his brother's back. The moment his palm touches Sam, though, he flinches horribly. He would have actually jumped if he had the dexterity right now.

"Sammy?"

It's too late. Sam scrambles away from Dean, chains hitting the floor as he starts to move back. His eyes are wide in terror, and Dean wonders what set him off. He raises his hands in supplication. "I'm not here to hurt you, buddy."

Sam doesn't bite. He just casts another look at Castiel and curls in on himself, trying to put himself in the corner of the cage without actually touching the bars with his back. And that's when Dean puts two and two together. Jessica had been sleeping on her stomach a few hours ago. Does this mean…?

Dean gets down from his haunches to all fours, crawling tentatively towards Sam. Sam flinches again, even before Dean is near, and bares his teeth at him. Dean shakes his head. "Not doing anything to you, man. I just want to see where that douchebag has hurt you."

Sam shakes his head, and Dean stops where he is. "I can help you," he says, "I can help you, Sammy. Please?"

Sam blinks a few times at him, face miserable and pitiful with all the bruises and welts, and after a moment, nods. Dean gets over to his brother's side and fingers the hem of his shirt, showing Sam what he's about to do, before lifting it up entirely.

Sam hisses, and Dean apologises silently, words dying in his mouth when he sees Sam's back for himself. It's scattered with wounds and scars, old and new, bruises and more cuts, criss-crossing grotesquely. However, those bother Dean less than the biggest wound of them all.

Branded vertically over Sam's back, in blistered block letters, red and inflamed, is the word _Azazel_.

Dean opens his mouth and shuts it. He freezes there, staring at the fucking brand on his brother, and he doesn't know what to do. He wants to reverse it all—take it away from Sammy so he doesn't have this fucking agonising burn on him, but…

"When did he get this?" he manages to whisper to Castiel.

"In the beginning. Azazel likes to keep it fresh."

"You didn't tell me?"

"I didn't think it was something to be spoken about."

Dean turns to the angel, letting Sam sit back again. "Do they give him any antibiotics? Pain killers?"

"The infirmary is only used when someone is very sick, Dean."

"He's been branded," Dean spits. "That asshole's name has been burned into his skin and the wound's not allowed to heal. He could die of an infection and I'm fucking surprised he hasn't already!"

Castiel looks down guiltily, as though he blames himself for Sam's trauma. Dean takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand down his face. "I'm getting him out of here. Now."

"That is not possible."

"Don't you dare tell me what's possible and what's not!" Dean snaps at him. "You told me you tried to help my brother. That you cared. And you couldn't sneak in a couple of pills for him?"

"He was in pain, Dean. He was barely eating, let alone—"

"Then give him a fucking shot! Is this how much you douche angels _care_?"

"Dean, you don't understand," Castiel says, lowering his voice when a slumbering Bartholomew staggers from his position. "We would all have been killed if I did that. Your brother included."

It would have been better that Sammy died than live like this four years. Dean's mind stops whirring as soon as he processes that thought, guilt assaulting his senses that he could even consider this. _But it's true_ , a small voice says in his head. Sam's in a terrible condition. And if this is what it's all come to…

_No. No_. Dean will get Sam out of this dump alive.

The elevator opens and a man enters, carrying a couple of boxes. They contain packets of food, Dean notices when the man opens the boxes and starts putting stuff onto plates. The guards rise from their places, one-by-one, and in a couple of minutes, Castiel is sliding in two plates from the gap underneath the cage before going over to get some for himself. It's chicken legs slathered in terrible-looking gravy.

Dean takes the plates and sits next to Sam, who reluctantly takes his food from Dean. There is silence between them. Dean is ravenous and his stomach gurgles even as he begins to eat, demanding more. He notices, though, that Sam's hands are trembling too much, and that Sam's having trouble eating. His hands don't seem to correctly coordinate with his mouth and Dean can see that he's hungry, too.

He gestures to Sam's plate. "You want help?"

Sam shakes his head and valiantly lifts the chicken leg to his mouth, thick gravy smearing on his lips as he tries to catch the meat with his teeth. Dean sighs and draws Sam's plate closer, working on the other chicken leg on it, starting to pull the meat from the bone.

It's undercooked and the flesh is difficult to pull off but he manages, and Sam, who's struggling with the other leg, stops to watch.

Dean pushes the plate back. "Go ahead."

Sam puts his chicken down and reaches to the pieces that Dean just made, fingers grasping on to a morsel with much difficulty before finally making their way to his mouth. He chews, slowly and unsurely and then looks back at Dean, eyes going down to the other leg on the plate before settling back on Dean.

"Atta boy." Dean grabs the meat by the bone and starts separating the pieces like the first one. He settles back to eat his own meal, cleaning the meat right down to the bone and remembering how a seven-year old Sammy would ask him and Dad for their leftover bones so he could crunch on the cartilage. He stopped when he grew up, even though he still loved the cartilage.

This time, Sam doesn't touch anything but the meat. He just washes down his food with some water, turns away without a sound, and after half an hour he's curled up and asleep.

**~o~**

Dean would have slept through the night had Sam not thrashed around with what seemed like the most horrid nightmares. He sits near Sam's corner, trying to rouse him without aggravating him, and all night Dean feels Castiel watch him, having abandoned his own slumber as he wonders how he's going to find an opening to sneak Sam out of this place.

The next morning, Castiel takes Sam for training, which is apparently on the first floor.

"And what is this?" Dean asks him when the angel guard comes back, his eyes shadowed from the lack of sleep.

"Azazel trains them to fight," Castiel replies. "The techniques he uses riles all of them up. They're brought back to their cages to gain full strength and then sent to various tasks around the camp, usually to do with killing of slaves, after which they're returned to be tamed."

Dean winces. "So between now and the slave thing, the only time Sammy's out of the cage is when he comes back?"

"Yes."

"And you'll open it for him?"

"Of course."

Dean clenches his fists. "Then I'm outta here with him."

Castiel's eyes widen. "What?"

"When you bring him back, I'll take him and leave. You can say I kicked you, threatened you—whatever."

Castiel smiles. "They will kill me."

"You wanna help Sammy, right? This is your chance."

"I do not want to die, Dean," Castiel replies earnestly.

"Then come with us."

The words are out of Dean's mouth before he can think, and he watches, as Castiel's eyes widen some more. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Cas," Dean replies. Because—why not? He can take Castiel back to the bunker and they can train him to fight. It would be great to have an angel on their side. So much more protection for everyone…

Dean looks into Castiel's eyes. "What do you say? Are you in? You help us out, Cas, and I swear we'll come back to take the demons down. That's what you want, isn't it? Safety for the humans?"

Castiel looks back at him for a long moment, blue eyes shifting colours like sea waves. He seems to be contemplating, but at the end of it he nods. "All right. I will accompany you."

"Great." Dean claps his hands. "Now we only need to figure out how to get my brother out of here when he's all hulked up and shit."

Castiel looks towards Nick's office, and then a room beyond, and smiles again, those fucking eye-crinkles and all, and Jesus, this must be a miracle that he's smiling so much. "I know how we can take him out, Dean."

**~o~**

An hour later when Castiel brings a struggling, restless Sam back to the cage, Dean uncaps the syringe that he's got in his pocket and moves forward, and the moment Sam is at the threshold, plunges it into Sam's bicep.

Sam growls, snarls and sways, staggers as his eyes slide shut and Castiel throws him over his shoulder like he's nothing, while Dean stumbles out of the cage, the two of them running as quickly as they can.

Behind them, the noises of commotion only indicate two things to Dean: his freedom and his little brother.


	5. It Was Just An Escape

Dean holds on to Sam's shoulders as they hide in a small gap in the walls. Still unconscious, Sam sags against cold stone, and Dean lets him rest there, clenching his fists so he can fight. Castiel slips into an adjacent gap, holding his steel silver blade in his hand, alert. Castiel had explained hurriedly how they needed to get Uriel out of the way before they could even attempt to escape.

They'd somehow managed to fight off a few and lose the other angels who'd chased them thus far. Castiel had said that Uriel was a lot stronger than he was and that they'd need to take him by surprise. The whole prospect makes Dean nervous because what's he supposed to do with Sam while he fights? What if they take Sam away?

Dean watches as Uriel rounds the corner, readying himself for what's going to follow. When Uriel is close enough, Dean steps out of his hiding place. God, this is a horrible plan and he just knows it.

"You!" Uriel charges towards Dean. He starts, raising his hands, but Uriel is too quick. He picks Dean up by the throat. "You better tell me where that betrayer Castiel and that monster brother of yours are, Winchester. Or you won't be alive to see him from here on out."

Dean chokes, struggling to breathe. Crap, he never knew angels were this strong. Uriel's hands are so fucking cold and they're clenching at Dean's windpipe, slowly draining the life out of him. _Anytime now, Cas,_ Dean thinks as dark spots start to enter his vision.

As though he were reading Dean's mind, Castiel steps out behind Uriel and stabs him through his neck. There is a choked scream, blood, and Dean's on the floor, holding on to his breath, trying to locate Sam. When his vision clears and he stands up slowly, Uriel has dropped to the floor, eyes wide but lifeless.

Dean coughs and gasps. "Could have come out a little sooner, dude."

Castiel shrugs and heads over to Dean's previous hiding place and picks Sam up again. "Take Uriel's blade. You'll need it," he instructs before hurrying down the passageway.

Dean picks up the blade and follows after the angel.

**~o~**

Dean hadn't realized how far off from the exit they were until he could feel stitches in his side and had difficulty catching his breath. He looks at Castiel and admires how the man looks a lot less out of breath than Dean. His gaze then falls on his unconscious brother, draped over Cas's shoulder, and it's all he can do to stow away his worry and concern and concentrate on getting them out first.

They meet a few other angel guards along the way, that with a little effort and a few hard bruises, Dean manages to knock out. Castiel fights with him too, and Dean watches him stand his ground, all the while protecting Sam. He feels like he can maybe trust the guy.

They wind their way through the tunnels, taking a route that Dean doesn't recognize. Castiel explains that it'll be easier to not catch the eyes of the guards patrolling about with the route he takes them on. However, about ten minutes from the exit, Dean slips on the uneven ground and falls with a loud crash, alerting three angels they were trying to sneak past at the end of a hallway.

From there it's a flat-out sprint for both Dean and Castiel. He lets Cas take the lead and soon enough, Castiel motions for Dean to open up a large black steel door set firmly with a latch. Grunting, Dean pulls on the latch, straining for a few minutes before unlocking the door and pushing it open.

He runs out first, holding the door open for Cas, who is still carrying Sam. He then slams it shut and turns around, only to have an arm circle around his neck, a silver blade held threateningly against it. He sees blond hair and he can tell it's a man. Dean bends over backwards, as the man keeps a surprisingly firm grip. Dean's blade falls from his hand, leaving him defenseless.

"Samandriel, no!" Castiel yells.

"What are you doing, Castiel? You are not supposed to be out here, let alone with one of those monsters," Samandriel snaps at him.

"Sam is not a monster."

Despite his situation, what with a knife held to his neck and all, Dean finds himself really appreciating that Cas uses Sam's name, treats him like a person. Yet again, he finds himself happy that Sam had been treated with some sort of decency all those years that Dean wasn't there to protect him.

"He partakes in Azazel's work. How is he not a monster?" the angel snarls, still not having lowered his weapon. Dean struggles and winces when he feels the knife break through skin ever so slightly.

"No!" Castiel yells again, seeing the small trickle of blood from Dean's neck. "Samandriel, I don't have time. It's too long of a tale to spin at the moment. Just know this much. These children in there? Nothing they do is in their control. They're brainwashed and tortured beyond any means we'd ever been trained to handle when we were sent out to protect mankind. You said you still believed in our cause, yes?"

Samandriel looks suspiciously at Dean and then back at Castiel. "Yes. I've always believed. No one deserves to live like this. If I could help it, I wouldn't be rotting here guarding this exit, now would I?"

Castiel nods along. "Then believe me when I say, this is for that cause. Please. You've always heard me out, seen reason. Please see reason this once. We don't have much time. The guards that were chasing us will be out that door any second, intent on nothing but killing us. Or worse."

Dean gulps audibly as he feels the blade push against his throat again. He sighs in relief when Samandriel lowers it the next minute. "Okay, Castiel," he says, shooting Dean an apologetic glance. He picks up his blade and then runs over to Castiel's side, hastily wiping at his neck.

"You can come with us," Castiel says. "Leave this wretched place. Maybe even find others and work for the cause we were meant to once again."

The angel hesitates, uncertain. At that moment, the door behind him bursts open and the other angels stumble out, snarling when they see Dean and Castiel.

"Go!" Samandriel yells. "I'll hold them off, go!"

Dean pulls on Castiel's arm and they start running the opposite way. Dean chances a glance back to see one of the angels plunging his blade right through the scar on Samandriel's neck before forcefully pulling it back out. He drops instantly to the ground, dead. It's all Dean can do to not upchuck as they run. He grits his teeth and keeps running, tearing his gaze away from the fallen angel.

"We need to get to the car before they catch us!" Dean yells to Castiel as they sprint past a corner and onto an abandoned street. He tries to get his bearings. They run past an overturned, destroyed car when he spots the bar he'd entered with his flimsy ass plan and suddenly, he knows where they are.

"I know where to go! Just follow my lead," Dean tells Cas. The angel nods, straining slightly under Sam's weight, yet he still keeps perfect pace with Dean. Dean now understands why the angels were supposedly strong enough to take over the demons.

If it were Dean carrying Sam, they probably would have already been captured and killed by now.

Dean finally spots his sleek black Impala just a few feet away. "There!" he yells, pointing towards it. Castiel grunts, sprinting faster, and Dean does his best to keep up with him. He rushes over to the car and unlocks it just as Castiel reaches the back door.

He opens it up and carefully lays Sam inside. He then hurriedly gets in the passenger seat while Dean scrambles up inside behind the wheel and jams his key in the ignition. He turns it once and the car revs and sputters, dying out.

"Goddamn it, baby. Come on! Not now!" he yells, frustrated.

"Dean, they're here," Castiel warns, spotting the demons no more than ten feet away from the car.

Dean frantically turns the key again, and the Impala refuses to start.

"Come on, baby. You got this," he mutters under his breath. "Yes!" he cheers as the car finally gives a loud roar and starts. He slams his foot onto the accelerator and watches in relief as the demons fall behind, the Impala gaining speed each second.

None of the inhabitants in the car speak another word as Dean hightails his way through the ruined city, towards the nearest ghetto he knows.

Dean just keeps glancing in the rear view mirror, towards his still unconscious brother.

They did it. They fucking did it. Sam is alive, and they got him out of there. Dean smiles and takes a deep breath. No matter what happens next, Dean feels a part of him heal itself, even though he knows that other parts of him are shattered beyond repair. Dean has his brother back. Dean has Sammy back.

**~o~**

"Where are we?" Castiel asks as he stares out the window looking towards the wooden gates they are slowly approaching. The gates extend on either side, forming a border on all the sides of the ghetto. Not much, but enough to protect the people that live there.

"One of the ghettos. I know a guy named Dave here. We'd helped drive away some demons when they got a hold of this ghetto a year back. He'd said he owed me, and I figure now's as good a time as any to cash in that favor. We need to lay low for a while," Dean explains.

"Do you think they'll be able to find us here?"

"I hope not."

They slowly approach the gates and watch as one man with short, spiky, dark hair and a healed gash on his left cheek holds cautiously onto the pistol in his holster and approaches the car, knocking on the window.

Dean lowers the glass. The man grins as he sees the familiar face. "Well, if it isn't Dean Winchester."

"Hey to you, too, Brian. You mind if we come in? I need to talk to Dave."

Brian purses his lips. "You can go in. But the blue-eyed guy and that dude in the back stay out here."

"They're with me, Brian –"

"Well, duh, they're with you. If they weren't, they wouldn't be in your car now, would they? Sorry, man. We gotta be careful, you know that. You wanted to talk to Dave, you go in yourself. If he says so, then these guys can come in."

Dean turns to Cas. "I'll be back in a sec. Also," he then reaches out and pulls up the collar of Castiel's trenchcoat, fingers brushing over scarred skin. "Not that it's a big deal, but if these guys see your scar, it could cause a problem. Dave may owe me, but we're not the best of pals, either."

"Okay." Cas gives half a glance towards the back seat.

"It'll be fine. I'll be back in a few," Dean says and exits the car.

**~o~**

They should have thought this through. Sam was bound to wake up sooner or later. Dean and Castiel look at each other and then towards Sam who is sitting in a corner of the room, knees up to his chest and arms around them; glaring at the two people before him.

Dean had managed to convince Dave to let them stay for a day before he found somewhere else to go. Dean knew it was dangerous to stay for too long. As for Sam, he'd made up a flimsy story about rescuing a survivor on the way to the ghetto. The less people knew about Sam, the better.

Sam had woken up a few minutes into entering the small room they'd been allotted on the bottom floor of an abandoned three-story motel building since they were only there temporarily. According to Dave, people passing by on the way to other ghettos was not uncommon and so they'd cleaned it out and somehow made the motel more 'livable'.

As soon as Sam had spotted Dean and Castiel, he'd leaped off the farther of the two single beds in the room and tackled Castiel to the floor. He'd then landed a solid punch to Dean's face, bruising his nose before trying to escape out the door.

Castiel, however, had gotten to his feet by then and had pulled Sam back before he could reach the door.

Dean's memory is a little hazy on how they'd managed to calm Sam down, what with a bloody nose and all, but he knew it had something to do with Cas. He remembers seeing the angel never loosen his grip on Sam and saying something over and over. Sam slumps, abandoning his struggle and retreats to glaring at his brother and the angel while being curled up in a corner of the room.

Dean winces as he takes the cold washcloth off his nose, making a face at the large spot of blood on it. "What did you say to him?" Dean asks, gingerly touching his nose to make sure it's not broken.

Castiel tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"I heard you mumbling something to him when you were trying to calm him down."

Castiel hesitates. "Well," he stalls. "In the beginning, when he still remembered you, he would…"

"He would what, Cas?" Dean asks, impatient.

"Sam used to put up a lot of fight, in the beginning when he and the others would be taken to…Nick. He'd scream your name the whole time, struggling to not be taken. When he would come back, he would usually be scared and in a lot of pain and sometimes, he'd…he'd think that I was you. I remember him calling me _Dean_ a lot of the time, especially after those sessions. He was going through a lot, Dean and he really needed reassurance and I think his mind may have let him believe I was you to let him have that comfort. He kept asking me to tell him that things are going to be okay. It stopped a while later, after Jessica was brought in. Sam just gravitated to her after that," Castiel explains.

Dean's heart breaks. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to react. Knowing that the first person Sam had wanted all those years was Dean, and that Dean hadn't been there for him, just completely obliterates something inside of Dean.

"So that's what I was telling him. That it was okay. And he calmed down."

Dean just licks his lips to avoid answering Castiel. He clears his throat, claps Castiel on the shoulder in silent thanks, and gets to his feet. He maintains eye contact with Sam as he slowly makes his way towards him, hands up in surrender to show that he doesn't mean any harm.

"Is it okay if I come there?" Dean asks, stopping a few feet from Sam, who has somehow made himself look even smaller with each of Dean's approaching steps.

Sam doesn't respond. He looks uncertainly towards Dean, still wary.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sam," Dean says, trying to ignore how much it hurts that Sam doesn't recognize him in the slightest. "I just want to help; talk. See if you're okay."

Sam slowly lowers his knees slightly.

"I promise. _Pinky promise,_ " Dean says, somehow hoping it'll jog Sam's memory.

Sam hesitates some more before finally giving a small nod. He pulls his knees back up to himself, wrapping his arms around them. He then shifts a little so that his back is not touching the wall and Dean remembers the brand on Sam's back.

He struggles to keep his anger under control and makes a mental note to go over to Dave and ask for some medical supplies so he can make sure Sam doesn't get an infection.

Dean slowly walks over to Sam and sits down cross-legged in front of him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted to get you out of there."

Sam remains expressionless, staring at Dean.

"We're out, okay? You're out of that place. No one is going to hurt you, again," Dean says gently. He grits his teeth when Sam flinches at the word 'hurt'.

"Sammy, it'll be okay. All right?"

Sam looks up, surprise in his eyes. He then takes a few seconds before swallowing, eyes narrowing and blinking, with an expression that clearly says, _okay_.

Dean notices how Sam is trying not to be too close to him but ignores it. He shouldn't be blaming Sam for reacting the way he is. The kid's been through hell, literally, for the last four years. If anything, Dean should be proud of how Sam's still held up.

But somehow, there's nothing but misery, anger, and guilt inside Dean. He pushes his feelings to the back of his mind and concentrates on making Sam trust them a little more. Enough to not let him be a problem for them later on.

"I'm a friend. I won't hurt you. I'm Dean, that's Castiel," Dean says, pointing towards the angel who's still sitting on the bed, watching the interaction between the brothers.

"You know him, right?" Dean asks.

Sam waits a little, and then twitches his head in a positive reply. "Good," Dean says, steeling himself. He never thought he'd be in a situation like this, where Sam seems to recognize a random angel but not his own brother.

Dean starts to say something further but stops when he hears a buzzing coming from the left. He spots a radio on the bedside table. He recalls how a few years ago radios were used to convey common news about demon whereabouts and information about new ghettos; that practice had soon been abandoned when the demons had found out about it and had taken down a large number of ghettos using the information from the broadcasts.

Dean wonders why it's buzzing after all these years and carefully gets up and walks over to the table, turning the frequency dial. The buzzing becomes a low mumble. He turns up the sound dial and feels a chill run down his spine. He'd recognize that drawl anywhere.

"To all that may be listening, I, Azazel, commander and ruler, ask for your help. You see, a certain hunter named Dean Winchester is of very great interest to me. He'll most likely be travelling with two other male companions. I will be sending off my soldiers to every settlement we know to search for this man. If you have seen him, or have given him shelter, we expect you to comply. If you give him and his companions up willingly, we will offer you full immunity and enough rations to keep you alive for the next ten years. You will never hear from us, or be harmed by us again. But if you fail to do so, my wrath will obliterate anyone and everyone who decides to hide and protect this fool of a man from me.

"That is my offer. Turn over Dean Winchester and his friends, _alive_ , and I will never lay a hand on you again. But protect him, and you'll face the consequences."

The broadcast shuts off and leaves the room in silence. Dean's heart thumps loudly in his chest as his mind immediately starts working out ways to get out of here. There is no way they can stop at any other ghettos now.

"Dean, what do we do?" Castiel asks.

"We need to get out of here, now," Dean says, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Keep watch and tell me if you spot anyone."

Castiel doesn't say another word. He immediately stations himself next to the window near the door, keeping a look out.

Dean hurries over to Sam. "Sammy, I need you to listen to me. You don't have to trust me completely if you don't want to. I just need you to listen to me, you think you can do that?"

Sam gives Dean a fearful look.

"Look, some bad guys are coming, okay? And they may not like us. I need you to stay with me. Don't run off, don't do anything. Stay with me and you'll be okay."

Dean watches as Sam contemplates his words and feels himself slump in relief when his brother nods after a long, nerve-wracking moment.

"Okay, you think you can get to your feet?"

Dean feels like he almost sees his brother when Sam immediately works on getting his feet under him. The look of determination even after all these years somehow instills a hope in Dean that he'll get his brother back.

"Cas?"

"I cannot see anyone, Dean. We'd best be heading out."

Dean walks over to the middle of the two beds and picks up his unpacked duffel bag. He joins his brother and Castiel by the door.

He steps out first, looking around and spotting no one. He then ushers the other two out and they start jogging towards where Dean has parked his car, a few minutes away from the motel. Just as they duck behind an abandoned shop, Dean hears yelling and footsteps making their way to what Dean presumes is the motel.

"Brian, lock the gates!" he hears one of the men yell.

"Dammit," Dean curses under his breath. He looks to his side to see Sam's fearful yet composed expression. "Okay, follow me."

They hurry past two other buildings, narrowly avoiding bumping into the men and women patrolling the ghetto.

Dean spots his car amongst other vehicles set a few hundred feet away from the main gates. He deposits his duffel in the back seat.

"You okay sitting in the back or you want to sit in the front with me?" Dean asks Sam in a low voice.

Sam makes his way into the back and Dean tries not to let it bother him that Sam doesn't want to sit shotgun. He shuts the door after Sam and gets into the driver's seat just as Cas gets in next to him.

Dean starts up the car, wincing at the loud roar—it's bound to attract attention.

"Fuck it," Dean mutters under his breath and peels out from between the cars on either side of him. He slams his foot on the accelerator, heading straight for the wooden gates of the ghetto.

"Stop!" Dean hears Brian yell. He's holding up his pistol, then Dean notices his partner pulling at his arm.

"We're not supposed to kill them, you idiot!" he yells.

Dean hesitates for a second before completely flooring it and making a beeline for the gate. Through the rearview mirror, he can see others running after the Impala, their own guns raised.

"Brace yourselves, guys!" Dean yells as he nears the gate. Brian and his partner jump out of the way and Dean smashes right through the wood and onto the street ahead. He grits his teeth and works to keep control of the car.

Dean chances a glance at the rearview mirror again, and sees the ghetto fade off into the distance, the inhabitants finally becoming smaller and smaller.

As Dean tries to rack his brain for another place to lay low, he hopes and hopes that the demons leave Dave and his ghetto alone. It wasn't their fault that they decided to provide shelter to Dean, Cas, and Sam. Dean tries not to let it get to him that if he knows how the demons operate, and he probably does, that ghetto will be wiped out soon.

And it'll be his fault.

**~o~**

"Thanks a lot, Bobby. I'll keep you in the loop. Stay safe," Dean says as he hangs up and chucks the phone into the glove compartment.

"Bobby says there's a cabin in Whitefish, Montana. It's a few hours' drive from here. Used to belong to a hunter friend. The demons, or angels, for that matter, won't find us there," Dean says.

"That is good news," Castiel says.

Dean gestures to Sam. "How's he doing?"

Castiel looks towards the backseat. "He's still sleeping. Do you think something is amiss?"

Dean eyes his brother carefully. Even if it's been four years, he knows Sam like an open book. Something is definitely wrong. He keeps his hopes up, though.

"He's probably tired out. Hungry. We haven't had a bite to eat in quite a while now. There'll probably be something at the cabin, I'm hoping." Silence falls in the interior of the Impala as Dean drives, following the directions Bobby had given him.

They're all tired and bruised. Dean knows he has to check on Sam and his injuries. He'll have to fix himself up, too, once he's sure Sam's okay. Cas doesn't look too worse for the wear. Hell, he looks the least beaten up out of the three of them.

A few hours later, Dean gets off the main road and follows a barely recognizable trail for about an hour, which finally leads up to the cabin. Dean parks the Impala on the the side of the cabin and gets out. He slowly opens the back door. Keeping one hand in front of him to shield himself, he slowly pats Sam on his elbow to wake him up. Just as Dean expects, Sam leaps up, instinct making him reach out defensively to protect himself.

"Sam! Sammy! Hey! It's me. It's Dean!" Dean says loudly. "No one's hurting you. You're okay. It's okay."

Sam stops struggling after a few seconds, with Dean holding on tightly to Sam's arms to stop him from hurting anyone. Dean lets go once Sam calms down.

"You're okay," Dean says, looking right into Sam's eyes. He smiles when the fear subsides from them.

He tries to help Sam out but backs off when his brother gives him a hostile look. As he watches Castiel lead Sam into the cabin, though, he can't help but feel a little jealous. Sam is more comfortable with Cas than with Dean, and dammit, this just isn't fair. He is Dean's fucking brother.

Storing yet another emotion in the back of his mind, he gets his duffel out of the car, locks the doors, and walks into the cabin.

It's cozy inside. The wall on the right is lined with a sink, some cabinets, a stove, and a microwave to create a small kitchen area. In the middle of the cabin sits a large table with a few chairs around it. The sitting area has a worn-out couch and an old TV on a cabinet. There are two doors to the left, the locked one a storage unit according to what Bobby had said, and the other the bathroom. Dean walks in, following Castiel and Sam to the very back where, to the left is a small, single bed, a chair at the foot of it, and to the right is a decent-sized bunk bed. A fireplace is set against the far wall between the single and the bunk bed.

Dean deposits his duffel on the top bunk and walks back to shut the door while Cas settles Sam onto the single bed and gets to his own bunk below Dean's.

"Come on," Dean mutters under his breath as he picks the lock on the storage room door. If there's one place that would have a few medical supplies, it's here. In a few seconds, it's unlocked and he gets in, climbing down the stairs to the bottom. The room is filled with arrays of shelves and storage cupboards that are full of all different items ranging from alcohol to jars filled with substances Dean doesn't want to know about, and other boxes filled with miscellaneous items.

Dean searches between the shelves, looking for a first aid box.

"Yahtzee," he mutters when he finds one labeled 'first aid'. He takes it off the shelf, wipes off the age-old dust, coughing in the process, and quickly walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. When he's upstairs he gets back to Sam, determined to take care of all the injuries on his brother right the fuck now. Sam flinches slightly as Dean approaches him but doesn't react otherwise. Dean decides to let it slide and kneels in front of his brother.

"You hurt?" he asks, giving Sam a chance to say he's okay with Dean tending to him.

Sam shakes his head and Dean almost snorts. Typical.

"Well," he says, "you've got some wounds that wouldn't be pretty if they got infected. I can help you with that. Is that okay?"

Sam takes a few seconds, and holds out his hand for the first aid box.

"Good try," Dean mutters as he ignores it and sits beside Sam. He feels relief when his brother doesn't object. Removing the supplies, he carefully starts tending to the small cuts and bruises on Sam's hands, legs, and face. Sam flinches a little with the sting of the disinfectant but says nothing otherwise. _Before_ , Dean would try to distract Sam, and they'd have a playful banter between the two of them. This feeling, though, is completely alien to Dean. Sam's never been this quiet, this…different.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Dean's made sure that the deeper cuts are bandaged and the other bruises and smaller cuts have been tended to.

He wants to take a look at the burn on Sam's back but isn't sure Sam will let him just yet. He tries to lift up Sam's shirt and realizes it's a mistake when Sam retreats to the far corner of the bed, hissing angrily and then grunting in pain when his back touches the wall behind him.

Dean holds his hands up, placating. "Sorry. I should have asked first. Can I look at that? It hurts, right? I can make it hurt less. Only if you want me to."

Sam grits his teeth, gulping a few times while clenching and unclenching his hands on the mattress.

Dean recognizes the agitated movements and gets to his feet.

"If you don't want me to see it, I won't. But it won't hurt any less if you don't do something about it. I'm not going to hurt you, Sammy. I promise, and if you want," he swallows resentfully, "I'll let Cas take care of it."

Sam scrutinizes Dean's expression and keeps staring at him as he slowly comes back towards his brother. He sits down again and and faces his back to Dean, giving his consent for Dean to help him.

"I need you to take the shirt off. Okay?" He clenches his fingers in the hem, gesturing, and Sam pulls it up with Dean's help. They get it off completely and Dean throws it on the floor, deciding to let Sam wear one of his shirts instead of this old one. However, what he sees on his brother's back right now doesn't baffle him any less than it did the first time.

He does his best not to blanch at the sight of the brand. He instructs Sam to lie on his side and hurries over to take a clean piece of cloth from his duffel. Taking an antibiotic cream from the first aid box, he dabs it over the brand, apologizing over and over under his breath when Sam winces or cries out in pain.

He then lays the cloth over the burn and watches Sam visibly relax.

When Dean can hear Sam's breaths evening out, a sign of him starting to doze, he gets to his feet, hoping the kid can get some sleep. He frowns when he feels a little heat radiating off of his brother but knows better than to bother Sam at this moment. He's got the antibiotic cream in and if it gets more serious in the next few hours, Dean will figure it out. He sighs tiredly, running a hand across his face before getting to his feet.

He realizes Castiel has been watching him this whole time and avoids the angel's gaze as he makes his way to the bathroom. He quickly tends to his own few bruises and in a couple of minutes, he's out. He puts the box onto the large table in the middle of the cabin and makes his way to the beds. Castiel has moved to the far end of his bed, making a place for Dean to sit if he wants to.

Dean runs a hand over the back of his neck and after a little bit of internal struggle, decides that there's no harm in doing so and climbs up, sitting beside Cas, their legs hanging off the side. He realises that he never even bothered to check if the angel was okay.

"Hey, Cas, you good?" Dean asks.

Castiel shrugs. "I'm all right. I don't usually get hurt much."

"Are you trying to be all manly and shit now?"

Castiel tilts his head, looking at Dean with his piercing blue gaze. "No. It's just that unless someone were to seriously damage the grace canister in me, I wouldn't be hurt as much as normal humans would."

"Really?"

"Yes. I believe you saw how those angels killed Samandriel? And how I killed Uriel?"

Dean doesn't miss the look of sorrow on Castiel's face. "Yeah," he says, "you and those angels drove the knife right through the scar on their necks."

"Yes. That's right where they've injected the canisters. If you damage the canister, you cause the grace to leak out. It's poisonous and it damages the tissue massively, hence causing immediate death. We're no stronger than normal human beings without our grace."

Dean purses his lips, Castiel's constant stare making him a little uncomfortable.

"Well, unless you want to eat anything, I'm going to get some shut-eye. That okay with you?" Dean asks.

Castiel nods. "I should probably rest a while, too."

"Okay, then. Wake me up if you want anything." Dean climbs onto his bed lies on his back. The sore muscles and exhaustion make themselves known as Dean gratefully lets the darkness take him over.

**~o~**

Dean jerks awake, blinking a few times to adjust his eyesight. It takes him a few seconds to remember where he is but when he does, he concentrates on finding what woke him up in the first place. The room is only slightly less lighted than when he headed to bed, so he concludes that he couldn't have been asleep for long.

It's then that he hears a whimper coming from the opposite bed. He quickly swings his legs to the side, taking the rungs to the ground, and looks up to see Castiel sitting up in his bed with a helpless expression on his face. Dean then looks towards Sam, the source of the whimpers, and feels his heart break a little.

Sam is shaking from head to toe like he's shivering from cold, but his forehead is covered with small beads of sweat, shining in the limited light. He sits on the far end of the bed, his arms around his knees like before. He rocks back and forth, his eyes darting to something only he can see to the far right of Castiel's bunk. The cloth Dean had placed on Sam's back lies on the floor, forgotten.

Sam visibly flinches and then mutters incoherently under his breath, all the while fearfully looking at the far corner of the room.

"Sam?" Dean calls out.

Sam lets out a pained cry and moves back even farther.

Dean jumps. "Shit," he curses under his breath, looking at Castiel. He now understands the helpless look on the angel's face.

He clears his throat. "Sammy," he says softly. "It's Dean. Remember? Your br – friend. I won't hurt you."

Sam acts as if he hasn't even heard Dean.

"Sammy, look at me."

Sam's gaze finally moves over to Dean.

"That's good. See? I'm right here. I told you no one would hurt you, and I mean it," Dean says as he slowly walks towards Sam.

Sam shakes, eyes widened and body positioned to indicate he's afraid. Dean coaxes and convinces Sam to lie back down. Sam is unsure, trusting Dean in some moments, and then not trusting him as he lies down on his stomach. Dean finds some clean gauze to loosely cover the burn again and decides to sit on the floor right next to Sam's bed, not knowing if it's making any difference but hoping it will.

He watches Sam drift into an uneasy sleep, and turns to Cas. "What the hell was that?" he asks. "I checked him. The wounds look okay and the fever's gone for now. Did they do anything else to him?"

Castiel shrugs. "I don't know. He never acted like this back when we were at the camp."

"Well, we need to figure it out before it gets any worse. I've never seen him like this either." Dean runs a tired hand through his hair in worry. "Sorry, Cas. Get some sleep."

Castiel shakes his head, climbing down from the bunk. "I'm not really tired. If it's okay, I'd love to sit outside."

Dean's brow furrows. "Okay." He watches Castiel head onto the porch and shakes his own head. _Weirdo,_ he thinks, observing Cas's retreating back, trenchcoat billowing behind him. He needs to get Sam and Cas some new clothes. Dean will raid the clothing shop at the nearest ghetto when he can.

Over the next few hours, Dean does all he can to make sure Sam is resting. Though it scares him to see Sam like this, he doesn't let it show on his face. Sam starts off shivering and quaking. When Dean pulls the covers over him to get him warm, though, he starts sweating immensely, pulling off the covers.

In the middle of the night it gets worse. Sam wakes up with a start, hand clamping over his mouth and he didn't need to speak for Dean to figure out what that meant. For the next few hours, Dean holds a rusty bucket under Sam whenever the nausea gets worse as he dry heaves, having nothing to throw up after the first time. He gulps anxiously time and again, looking utterly traumatised at his symptoms, going green every once in a while.

When Sam starts shifting around uncomfortably on the bed, groaning in pain every now and again, Dean suspects body aches and cramps. He checks the wounds again and they seem okay. He starts to wonder if it's the flu or maybe food poisoning from that godforsaken place. Or is it just all the stress?

Cas helps Dean in tending to Sam's needs. They do it silently, barely talking, but they're both up all night as they work alongside one another. Dean somehow finds it peaceful that Cas doesn't talk a lot. Cas understands what Dean needs, and it's comforting to know that. He's kinda even thankful to have the angel with them.

Sam settles a bit near breakfast time. He's still uncomfortable, but he's mostly sleeping and it works well for everyone. Cas heads out to sit on the porch again while Dean plops onto his bed, exhausted but also wide-awake. He finally settles on watching Sam sleep, ready to take care of anything he needs, because right now, that's the only thing he can do.

Look out for Sammy.


	6. They Tried a Better Life

Dean is resting on the bunk bed, eyeing Sam from time to time to see if he needs anything. Sam's feverish, constantly aching and whimpering and shaking. Dean's tried everything to make him comfortable but none of it's really worked. Sam is curled up on his side the whole time to avoid friction with his brand, which is basically why Dean's on his feet in seconds when Sam falls onto his back.

Out of nowhere, Sam starts to seize.

"Fuck!" Dean is rushing towards his brother. "FUCK!"

"CAS! CASTIEL!" Dean yells, knowing Castiel is just sitting outside on the porch steps. The dude seems to like being outside, which Dean can't blame him for, since he's been sitting outside a cage for a good part of the last four years.

Sam's teeth are clenched, blood leaking out the corners of his mouth as his whole body arches for a moment before starting to shake, limbs beating down on the mattress. He's gurgling and choking and Dean's heart thrums at a deathly pace against his ribcage as he lays a hand on the side of Sam's head and tilts it so he won't drown in his own mess.

"Dean?" Footsteps pound across the wooden floor and Dean barely turns when he feels the angel at his side. Before him, Sam takes a gasping breath and bucks up as he levitates from the bed.

"What the fuck?!" Dean practically yells, putting his other arm on Sam to keep him down as Castiel joins them. "What the fuck is that?"

"I don't know," the angel guard replies. Underneath their hands, Sam continues to jerk and shake, overtly warm as he takes another heaving breath, his limbs finally going still.

There is deathly silence in the period that follows.

Dean waits just the way he is, hands on Sam and watching the dribble of frothy saliva and blood staining the mattress. Sam is sweaty and his breaths are too fast and ragged, the painful whimper at the end of each one going through Dean's heart like a poker. The seizing must have lasted thirty seconds tops, but it's one of the worst things Dean's ever had to witness, just second to watching his dad die. His hands are shaking when he sees Castiel and he follows his lead, making Sam lie on his side. Sam's out cold for now and with each moment his breathing's picking up.

"Shit," Dean whispers, wiping away some of the blood and spit from Sam's mouth with his sleeve. "Shit, Cas, this is bad. Fuck."

"Contrary to what we believed," Castiel murmurs, "I don't think this is just an attack of influenza, Dean."

"Ya think?" Dean runs a hand over Sam's head, stroking it, uttering a prayer in his mind. He isn't even the praying type, and he has no idea who he's praying to, _but fuck, Sam, just be fucking okay_. He pauses in his ministrations when a thought suddenly occurs to him. "Cas, I think we'll need to handcuff him."

"You're on the lookout all the time."

"Even so," replies Dean, running his hand through his hair, "I don't want that thing—whatever it is—flinging him around." He grits his teeth. "He fucking levitated from his bed."

Castiel's voice is low when he speaks. "It's possibly a drug Azazel put him on, Dean. Because if this is not the flu, I believe it is—"

"—withdrawal," Dean nods in conclusion. "The fuck kinda drug is that, though?"

"Grace," Castiel replies in a whisper. "I have heard stories of angels whose grace canisters were drained, their throat sewn back together, and it wasn't a pleasant experience for any of them when they had to face what followed. After we were defeated in the war, the demons used this technique on many of my brothers and sisters to bring us to fear them. I have not witnessed it myself, but…" Castiel swallows, his eyes wide and lips pressed together, as though it still haunts him.

"When an angel is deprived of grace," he continues, "it's like asking someone to get rid of an addiction. The withdrawal is painful and from what I've heard, symptoms match what your brother is going through."

"Okay. So was he trying to convert Sam and the others into angels, or…?"

"I don't know," Castiel says. "But we'll find out. Just know that your brother is in no mortal peril. No angel died of this."

Dean sighs. "I hope it's over soon." He fixes his eyes on Sam and studies the drying blood on his mouth and chin. "I think he bit his tongue."

"We have painkillers. I took some from the infirmary along with the sedative that we gave him." Castiel connects eyes with Dean again. "And I think your brother is going to be all right." He draws out a hesitant hand and brings it forward to squeeze Dean's shoulder.

Dean's stomach drops slightly at the unexpected touch, but he smiles. "I know. My brother's a tough son of a bitch."

**~o~**

The withdrawal lasts four days. Dean is at his brother's side the whole time, taking care of Azazel's branding and all of the injuries that Nick's given Sam, and then the withdrawal symptoms in themselves. Sam is miserable, to say the least, and the fact that he cannot lie down on his back is making it all worse. The muteness makes it absolutely unbearable.

On the first day, Sam yells and spasms in utter agony, clenching his fists and jaw and Dean doesn't know what to do to ease his pain. Sometimes Sam's too cold and sometimes he's too warm. He can't seem to keep any food down; or water, for that matter, and when the cramps hit him, he can't seem to even _breathe_ in the pain that they cause him. Sometimes, he opens his eyes and looks at Dean, only to latch on to him, fists clenching tightly at Dean's shirt. His lips move but they form no words and his voice begs and pleads. Dean knows Sam's asking him to make it go away.

But he can't, and it kills him.

Fuck. Sam's a kid. A fucking kid. Barely twenty-two, and he shouldn't have to be in so much pain; not physically, and not mentally.

The second day is the same, and after worrying for a whole twenty-four hours, Dean starts an IV for his brother, steeling himself to the pleading sob that Sam lets out when the needle pricks at his too-sensitive skin.

On the third day when Sam's voice gives way, Dean loses it. He watches as a horrible cramp hits his brother and he watches Sam yell; except there is no voice. Tears leak out of the corners of Sam's eyes and his mouth is open, eyes screwed shut, all his muscles tightening and loosening while little choking noises erupt from the back of his throat. Castiel is sitting with them and Dean vaguely mutters something to the angel before walking out to the porch as quickly as he can without actually running.

Outside, it takes Dean a while to catch his breath and to stop the tears that erupt from his eyes. "Gotta be strong for Sam," he whispers to himself, collapsing against the back fender of the Impala and burying his head in his hands. "Gotta be strong for Sammy."

He remembers how Sam's going through excruciating pain, unable to even get the relief of yelling, and he's back on his feet. "FUCK!" he yells, every bit of him vibrating with anger and frustration. "FUCK!" Before he knows it, he's punching the Impala; once, twice, and when he realises what he's doing, he pulls away, knuckles throbbing from the impact.

"Sorry, baby," he whispers brokenly, wiping at the stray tears on his face. "It's not you."

He returns to the cabin and takes care of Sam through another day of shakes.

It all begins to ease up on the fourth day. The IV comes off in exchange for water that doesn't get spewed back up on Dean's shirt. Sam basically just begs heartbreakingly at thin air, eyes at half-mast, whimpering and sobbing, and Dean sits there with his hand on Sam's forehead. "It's okay," he whispers to Sam. "It's gonna be okay."

Sam continues to plead mercy, as though Dean doesn't exist. That night marks the last of the spasms.

On the fifth day, Sam starts looking less like death warmed over. He's still shaky and too hot or too cold by turns, but he's not hallucinating or choking in pain or seizing, so Dean counts it as a win. Dean reckons Sam can try eating something solid today, like toast. Their supplies are from a shop in a ghetto an hour away, and they have to steal it because if anyone recognises them, they know they're done for. Azazel has his eyes and ears everywhere and they're taking some really big risks right now.

Castiel always agrees to make the supply runs. Dean doesn't know why that is—whether the angel feels like he's obligated because of being in charge of Sam all these years, or if it's something else, but after a couple of days, it becomes obvious that Castiel is taking sole responsibility of this.

Dean sits next to Sam's bed, shows him the toast on the plate. "I got something for you, Sammy. Think you're feeling better today?"

Sam nods, brows furrowed as he points to the floor near the bed, to draw Dean's attention to the handcuffs that have just been taken off of Sam.

"You had a few fits, bud," Dean says, placing the plate on the floor and helping Sam sit up. Sam shuts his eyes when Dean's hand touches the back of his neck, and Dean smiles. He remembers what Cas had said about kindness. "No one's gonna hurt you here," he says quietly. "You know that, right?"

Sam looks into his eyes earnestly, but doesn't nod. He still doesn't trust Dean, it looks like, and Dean tries not to be too offended, reminding himself that Sam's been through a really hard time. He picks the toast back up and puts it on Sam's lap. "Eat up."

Sam shakes his head, pushing the plate to the bed, crumbs falling and scattering on the mattress. He brings his knees up to his chest and scoots backwards with his arms around them.

Dean sighs, pushing the plate back towards Sam. "It's good, bro. You'll feel better."

Sam shakes his head again. Dean lifts up a piece of toast and takes a bite, proving to Sam that it's legit. It's bland, and Dean hates it because really, he's not the one sick here. "Shee?" he asks Sam, around a mouthful. "It'sh good."

The crumbs spray everywhere, some catching on the sleeves of Sam's sweater and he eyes them for a while, still bewildered, before brushing them away. His gaze is trusting when he turns back to Dean, though, and he extends a shaking hand to accept his meal.

"Good boy," Dean mumbles, handing him the toast. Sam lifts it to his mouth and takes a small, unsure bite. His teeth crunch on it for a while, and in the meantime, he hands it back to Dean.

"Gotta eat more than that, dude," Dean replies, pushing it back.

Sam shakes his head and brings it closer to Dean's mouth.

"He thinks we're all still locked up by Azazel," Castiel provides from behind them. "He wants to share his food with you, Dean." He comes forward and seats himself at the foot of the bed. "Sam, you're free. We all have food for ourselves. You can eat that."

Sam doesn't listen, eyes pleading as he shakes his already trembling hand, offering the toast to Dean anyway. Dean watches him for a moment, taking in his sweaty, worn-out face, tired eyes, and the extremely sweet gesture, and nods. "Okay, Sammy." He hates that at this point, Cas can read Sam better. But, okay, he'll help his brother in any way that he can.

He takes a small bite of the toast before giving it back to Sam. Sam takes in another mouthful and passes it to Cas. They continue this until both pieces of toast are gone, and Dean gets Sam to drink all of the water, too. He smiles as he puts the old utensils away, coming over to place a hand on Sam's floppy hair, crinkling his nose at how sticky it feels. "You need a shower, dude."

Sam blinks up at him and pushes the crumbs away from the bed before starting to lower himself on the bed to lie back down. Dean smiles, sinking his fingers deeper into Sam's hair as he cards through it. "You're tired." He kneels down, so he's eye-level with Sam. "It's okay. Go to sleep, Sammy."

He helps Sam lie on his stomach and his brother's eyes close after a moment. "We need to take care of that brand Azazel put on your back," he whispers to Sam. "You have to take some more pills once you wake up, okay?"

Sam nods sleepily, and in the next few moments, his breaths have evened out. Dean sits back, takes a look at his brother for a long moment, and tilts his head to Castiel. "I need a beer," he says, "or six."

He doesn't wait for Castiel's reply, just heads to the small fridge and extracts two drinks, handing one to the angel. "C'mon," he tells Cas. "We've been in here for a long time. Sammy's better now."

"I have been outside," Castiel remarks, but nevertheless, he follows Dean out to the porch. Dean kicks away some dry leaves from the creaky wooden stairs and sits down, patting the place beside him for the angel to follow suit. Cas's blue eyes blink once and he nods, before coming down and plopping beside Dean.

Dean pops off his bottle's cap with his ring and takes a long swig. "Ahh," he sighs, smacking his lips. "Today's a good day."

Castiel is still struggling with his cap, but he shrugs. "I hope you know, Dean, that Sam still doesn't recognise you. He merely thinks you're kind."

"I know."

"Are you going to tell him?"

Dean glances back through the open door, to the single cot where his brother is sleeping soundly. "Yeah. When he's not so confused." He fumbles with the label on his bottle, peeling off paper with blunt fingernails, and sniffs. "Wish he knew who I was, though. Would make things a lot easier."

"I'm sorry. It must be very hard to have your family not remember you. Especially when you are close with them."

A dry, cool, gusty wind blows in their direction and Dean bows his head, replaying memories of his time with Sam before he'd disappeared: of how it should have been Sammy next to him, sitting on the porch steps of some cabin after they'd rescued Dad, while they made triumphant phone calls to the bunker and drank beer. Of how they should have discussed defeating Azazel as a family, after getting intel on Hell, and not like this… all damaged and broken, and _dead_.

Of course, it couldn't be that way. Dean's life couldn't even be normal in the least abnormal way. It had to be this.

"Will Sam ever remember me?" Dean asks Cas slowly.

"I believe he could, at some point." There is brief silence, as Dean processes the words, and they're like a prayer in his head, of _pleasepleaseplease_. He peels off some more of the label. "What about your family, Cas? Where are they?"

"I don't know."

Dean turns to him. "What?"

"They're probably dead," Castiel replies nonchalantly. "I have been told I had a wife and a daughter. My human name was Jimmy Novak and my wife was not supportive of my decision to become an angel. She took it as a sign of me abandoning her."

"Who told you that?"

"Michael. When we were initiated into the angel army, we were told of the current status of our families. He spared no details."

A pang of sympathy sears in Dean's chest, and he looks down. "I'm sorry, man."

"It's all right," Castiel says, shrugging. "I don't remember, so it doesn't hurt me, really."

"Still…"

"I found a family at my workplace," Castiel says gently. "Before we were taken over by the demons, my brothers, sisters, and I did not fight as much as you witnessed. We were in harmony, and we enjoyed each other's company."

"I can believe that… kinda."

"Afterwards," Castiel continues, "I found my solace in caring for your brother. He came in scared and confused, but he's fought tooth and nail." He licks his chapped lips, putting his beer bottle aside as he gives up trying to open it. "Sam is a very good man."

Dean finishes his beer, takes Castiel's bottle and pops it open before taking a sip and handing it back to the angel. "I know," he says quietly. "I know." He can feel pride inflate every bit of him, throat clogging up, because that right there; that kid inside the cabin, curled up and asleep and shaking off some horrendous withdrawal symptoms is Dean's fucking _brother_. He might be broken, but he's still so fucking brave. Dean never expected any less of Sam.

A hand comes to clamp around Dean's wrist and he smiles up at Castiel. His eyes are kind; blue sparkling with all the colours of the sun as he looks at Dean, getting Dean's heart to jolt again.

Dean hides the jolting somewhere deep inside him and continues to think about Sam.

**~o~**

"Hey, Cas, do you know how to use a gun?"

It's a week since they've been back at the cabin, and Castiel's entering the cabin with a plastic bag of the stuff he stole from the grocery store. He takes off his trenchcoat and hangs it meticulously on the rack. Dean took him and they nicked some jackets, shirts, and pants for Sam and Cas from a small shop at the ghetto in the middle of the night, but Cas still wears his trench over it all whenever he is cold or has to go outside.

Meanwhile, Sam's solving the crossword puzzle in one of the old newspapers at the cabin, tongue sticking out between his teeth as he meticulously writes down the answers. He does this a lot these days.

Dean's cleaning his guns on one of the bunk beds, the parts all taken apart and arranged on the sheets, when he notices the plastic bags in Castiel's hand. "What you got there?"

Castiel looks into the cover, smiles, and extracts a triangular foil. "To answer your first question," he says, "I do not know how to use a gun. As for your second, this is for you." He hands the pack to Dean and Dean opens it eagerly, only to peer in and find—

"Pie!" Dean grins at Castiel. "Dude! How did you know?"

"You spoke of it last week," Cas shrugs. "You told me in passing that this was your favourite dessert. I cannot obtain one made by that woman you adore…"

"Ellen," Dean fills in for him.

"Yes, and I'm sorry this doesn't make up for it…"

"You kidding me?" Dean asks, breaking off a huge piece and shoving it into his mouth. "Thish is delicioush!"

"You're welcome, Dean."

"You should totally try some of this," Dean tells Castiel once he's swallowed it down. "C'mere." He turns to his brother. "Sam?"

Sam doesn't look up, just continues to do his puzzle, and Dean's heart sinks just a bit, although he tries not to be too affected by it. Sam's usually on his own ever since he's recovered, taking out a few of the old newspapers that Rufus seems to have hoarded in this cabin, solving crosswords and Sudoku in a corner. He sometimes makes gestures to Cas if he needs anything, but the only time he reacts to Dean is when Dean initiates a conversation, and that too, happens only sometimes.

Towards the evenings every day, Sam starts to get nervous and fidgety and he won't let anyone near him at those points. He thinks Dean or Cas might just take him to Nick for his—and Dean feels sick even thinking of it— _taming_. But, since Sam doesn't even trust Castiel at these points and not just Dean, Dean is less resentful.

"He will talk, Dean, he just needs time," Castiel tells Dean gently, as though he's read his thoughts. He walks over and sits next to Dean on the bed. Their shoulders bump when he bends forward to pluck out a small piece of pie.

"What did they do to make him…?"

"Not want to talk?"

Dean nods, watching Castiel put the pie in his mouth. He chews for a moment, swallows, and narrows his eyes. "Sam had a furious mouth and many opinions at first. He was stubborn and he had a smart tongue. Azazel didn't like it."

"Of course he didn't," Dean scoffs.

"The other children started getting ideas and motivation from Sam. Not that they weren't capable by themselves—but Sam was the only hunter amongst them all, and they just weren't used to being in situations like that."

Dean thinks of Jessica in cage number eight and Andy in six and the other nameless kids in there. He wonders what Jessica might be doing, having no one to hold her hand through the bars of her cage anymore. He wonders if she and Sam were in love.

Dammit, if Dean could've done it, he'd have brought Jessica along. He'd have brought every fucking kid back from that place.

Castiel contemplates as he absently licks a pie crumb off his bottom lip, tongue wetting it in one brief stroke. "I believe they had some kind of a technique to make Sam and the others stop talking in Nick's sessions. It's a by-product of severe post-traumatic stress. It took more than a year to break them like this, but it worked."

 _It sure did_ , Dean thinks, eyeing Sam again.

"This is really good, though," Castiel continues, eyeing the residual pie filling that sits on his fingers. He brings them up to lick them clean, one by one, and Dean swallows, turning to Sam.

"Dude," he says hoarsely, pushing his pie into the angel's free hand. "Just eat it. Stop—" He swallows again, goosebumps rising all over when Castiel looks at him, eyes blinking sluggish and innocent. "Stop with the licking. It's fucking disgusting."

"Sorry."

Dean gets up from his face. "I'll fix us some lunch."

"Okay."

Dean ignores the goosebumps, unable to understand why they are still refusing to leave.

**~o~**

Dean makes mac and cheese with ketchup and Fluffy Marshmallow Mix for Sam, and plain mac and cheese for him and Cas. Sam is brainstorming over what looks like the tenth crossword puzzle for the morning. Dean just watches him work while he scoops up the food into plates, finding his peace from Sam's furrowed brows and sure hand while he writes. It's obvious that all of Sam's brain cells are still intact despite his four years of exile. What Dean has now is a traumatised version of his brother—one he plans to fix.

"You know—"

"JESUS!" Dean hollers, jumping as he almost drops the mac and cheese. He turns to Castiel, who's so close to him, their noses are almost touching. "Cas," he says, voice taking on a warning tone.

"Sorry," the angel mutters, taking a step back. "I didn't—"

"Forget it. What were you saying?"

"You can reintroduce yourself to your brother. I noticed you've made him something he might have liked in his childhood, but that might not work as well as you're hoping it to."

Dean arches up an eyebrow. Castiel blinks, shrugging. "He thinks you're kind, Dean. I think you should start from there."

"Dude, he's the one who doesn't want to talk. I'm trying."

"You are yet to remind him that you're brothers."

"Yeah. And he won't remember until I give him some memories, Cas. Until I tell him something from the past, which you say I shouldn't be doing!"

"His mind is fragile. Shoving memories into him can be detrimental."

"Oh, look at that! The family psychiatrist!"

Castiel frowns. "I'm serious, Dean. I think you should just start by talking to him about your life, and then, when he can handle it, telling him about how he's involved too."

Dean rolls his eyes. "And why the hell would he believe me if I just _tell_ him? He still thinks he's in Hell sometimes! Every fucking evening he thinks one of us is going to grab him and throw him to Lucifer."

"Nick."

" _Satan_. Don't give him a cute pet-name."

Castiel sighs. "I know you're angry. I know you're impatient—"

"You think?"

"You have to wait, Dean," Castiel tells him simply. "I never hurt him _once_ , and he doesn't trust me, either. The only people he ever believed never to hurt him were the other special children."

Dean snorts. "Fantastic."

"Do not—"

"No." Dean picks up Sam's plate. "I'm not angry at Sammy. But I have to get him to snap out of this. It's been a fucking week and he has to know."

"It's not that easy. It's a delicate situation."

"Fuck you," Dean spits at him. "I knew him eighteen years before you even saw him. Don't you fucking teach me."

"I'm not trying to."

"Good. Don't."

Dean throws the dishrag over his shoulder and takes Sam's plate to him. Sam's sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, and he doesn't look up when Dean sits in front of him. Dean pushes the plate towards Sam, watching as Castiel picks up the two other plates and heads towards them.

"Lunch time, Sammy," he says lightly.

Sam looks up at him, gaze meeting Dean's for a single moment before swivelling over to the plate of the disgustingly flavoured mac and cheese which he'd always preferred. Well, at least until he was dragged to Hell. Dean hopes he still likes it, and that… well, that Sam will remember something. He knows it's not of small consequence, this amnesia, but he can't fucking take it any longer.

Castiel joins them with the plates and Dean takes his on his lap. "Eat up, Sasquatch," he says, trying to smile, forking some macaroni and waiting for his brother to follow.

Sam stops writing and peers upwards, pencil end between his teeth. Dean reaches for it and pulls it out of his mouth, drawing a thin string of saliva as he pulls it out. "Yuck, dude," he mumbles, scrunching his face as he proceeds to rub the spit off on Sam's sleeve. "Eat the actual food, will you?"

Dean puts the slobbery pencil on one side as Sam picks the plate up to his lap just the way Dean has. He spoons some macaroni and puts it into his mouth. Dean freezes at that moment, watching Sam eat, looking at his jaw moving while he chews, and then his face when he swallows, and he thinks, maybe Sam will remember—react. Anytime. Anytime now…

Sam remains indifferent as he gulps down some water and reaches out for more. Dean refuses to acknowledge the lump in his throat and butchers his macaroni with his fork a little before taking in some for himself. He's barely paying attention to it; barely watching Castiel eat it, his mind only on how Sam didn't even react, when there's a gagging sound.

"Sam!" Castiel calls out.

Dean looks up. "Sam?"

Sam's cheeks are bulging as he takes in spoonful after spoonful of macaroni, stuffing his mouth with the food, and he's not looking up while he continues despite Castiel and Dean calling out to him.

Dean grabs the plate from Sam's hands and pulls it away. "Stop!"

Sam looks up, eyes wet, and still gagging on too much food as he extends a hand to Dean.

"No," Dean tells him sternly. "Spit that crap out."

Sam's shoulders hitch as he heaves, clamping a hand to his mouth, but he shakes his head.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dean asks him as Castiel grabs a box of tissues for them. He rips a few paper napkins and holds it before Sam's mouth. "Spit it out, Sammy. Now." Sam is about to refuse but Dean glares. "Sam, spit that crap out, or so help me—"

Sam bends forward and finally spits up the extra-large mouthful into the wad of tissues in Dean's hand. Dean groans when he looks at the half-chewed food. "So much slobber, dude," he mutters, but before he can get up to put it in the trash and clean off his hands, Sam's on his feet and already making his way to the door.

"SAM!" Dean stands up too, running with Sam's gross food in one hand, but Sam takes off at a pace that's much quicker than Dean's. His training has improved his speed and dexterity to an almost supernatural level, despite the fact that all the angel grace he was force-fed or whatever has been drained from him. He runs into the woods and Dean curses, throwing the semisolid mess in his hand at the base of a tree as he follows. "Sammy!"

The trees are too dense for Dean to spot his brother but he can hear his footsteps. He keeps his pace, following the sound of them, but the ground is too uneven to be quick enough and Dean's starting to lose the trail.

He looks for Sam for two whole hours before giving up, hoping, praying that Sam will come back. When he gets back to the cabin, Castiel is waiting for him, all three plates of food still where they are with Cas sitting beside them, shell-shocked.

Dean feels something tighten in his chest.

"I think he remembered," Castiel tells him slowly from his corner.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Dean hears the plates being scraped up and suddenly he's standing inches away from Castiel's face, listening to him breathe. Castiel's eyes flash an enraged blue. "I told you," he says in a low voice. "I told you."

"I thought he might not remember, at the worst," Dean argues, fists clenching, before he grabs the plates from Castiel's hands and heads to the sink. However, he is stopped, strong fingers on his wrist pulling him to turn around.

"I gave up everything, Dean," Castiel says, his voice menacing. " _Everything_. And it was not for you to act this way, without thinking or listening to me."

"Don't act like you know—"

" _I know Sam better than you do_ ," Castiel tells him, slowly, clearly, as though he's getting Dean to grasp on to it. "He is not the boy you missed all those years— the younger brother who looked up to you and wanted to follow in your footsteps. He had to grow up and accept you wouldn't come back. He was made to forget and was broken in ways that you cannot imagine. He is different and I have been there with him for every single day of this transformation, so I think it will be beneficial to you if you decide to listen to me and just accept this."

"You don't fucking know him," Dean reiterates. There's a painful lump sitting right at the opening of his throat, but damn if he just goes with this shit that Castiel's spouting. An angel—an emotionless super-soldier—can't possibly know the kid Dean fucking grew up with.

He frees his hand from Castiel's. "Screw you. You don't even have any fucking emotions on you."

Castiel doesn't respond and Dean feels his heart sink as he starts to throw away the food and rinse the plates. He feels awful. Castiel risked his life to get them those supplies. Dean and Castiel both risked their lives to bring Sam back and this thing—this single mistake—is threatening to pull it all apart right now.

Castiel's words fall on Dean like a pile of bricks as realisation slowly seeps into him. Maybe Dean doesn't know Sam after all. Maybe Cas is right.

He remembers his father, bleeding and gasping in that alleyway and the dark couple of nights that followed. _Save Sam, or kill him._

Dean chose to save Sam, and no matter what, he won't be going back on those words. For his father's sake, and Sammy's sake.

He puts the clean dishes on the counter and turns to Castiel, who is leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. "I'm going to look for him again. You can come along if you want."

Castiel straightens up and nods. "I'll come along."

"Good." Dean goes over to his duffel while drying his hands on his jeans, pulls a Taurus and the Beretta and throws one to Castiel.

"I can't use this," the angel replies, catching it. "I don't know how."

"Suck it up," Dean retorts. "If something happens, just pull the fucking trigger. We don't have time."

Cas stares at him for a long moment, and Dean looks away. "Okay," he hears Cas say. "Okay."

They head back out into the woods. The sun is high and bright and uncomfortably warm and Dean wipes off droplets of sweat from his nose as he hikes up the trail carefully, calling out to his brother occasionally. Sam doesn't respond.

They look everywhere that they can—near a very narrow stream, deeper into the woods—and Dean's legs are throbbing with every move. The sun's going down, bringing with it chilly gusts of wind. Dean hugs himself. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to make up for this screw-up of his. He just wants his brother back.

"Dean."

Castiel's voice drags him out, wrapping around him like a tightrope, and Dean blinks back at the angel, who is pointing a finger towards his far right.

On a rock, sitting with his head in his hands, is Sam.

**~o~**

"I brought you some pie."

Castiel is aware that there was no need to go back into town for this. He knows the risks it carries and he knows that it is not at all recommended. Yet, he couldn't help himself this morning when he woke up to a very sullen Dean and realised just how heartbroken Dean is.

Ever since they brought Sam back from the woods, Sam has been responding, in his usual, non-verbal sense, only and only to Castiel. Dean's attempt to talk to him hadn't yielded too many results even before, but now, they can both make out that Sam is purposefully ignoring Dean. He seems angry; resentful for a reason Castiel cannot fathom, and he seems to vaguely recognise Dean. Which makes it all worse for Dean.

He isn't taking the rejection from his brother well, and Castiel knows he didn't sleep all night because they do actually sleep on a bunk bed, Dean at the top, and the bottom bunk had moved every time Dean had tossed in his sleep. In the morning, Castiel decided he wanted to cheer Dean up. He has no idea why that thought popped into his head, but he just went with it and left the cabin before Dean could say anything.

Presently, he looks at Dean's blank face and dejected eyes and takes a step closer, holding out the pie. "Dean?"

Dean blinks and takes it from Castiel without uttering thanks, but it's not like Castiel wants to be thanked. He watches the young man make his way to the single cot where Sam is sitting. Dean kneels before his sibling. "Sammy?"

Castiel's heart jolts when Sam looks away, despite the fact that he expected it.

Dean unwraps the pie and puts it on the bed. "This is good, you know. I tasted it yesterday and Cas did, too." He chuckles. "He was licking his fingers, dude."

Sam doesn't respond. He merely pulls out a pencil and a newspaper from his bundle and gets to work on the crossword again. Dean licks his lip and scoots forward. "Do you want this?"

It's so silent that Castiel thinks he can hear the crickets chirping in the distance. He sighs and heads towards the brothers, wanting badly to help Dean. "It's true, Sam," he provides. "It's a very good pie. You should, perhaps, try it."

Sam looks up at Castiel, eyes focussing on him as he pushes back his messy hair, and nods. Castiel can hear Dean's heart shatter at that and he stands up when Sam finally accepts the pie. Dean comes over to Castiel and gives him a smile—one that doesn't even try to reach his eyes. "Thanks for getting him to eat, man," he says, patting Castiel's shoulder. "We should get started on your shooting skills today."

"Okay." Castiel returns the smile and pulls Dean's hand from his shoulder, but Dean's already taking his hand out of Castiel's grip.

"I'll be outside," he says, swallowing thickly. Castiel watches him leave, and then looks at Sam devour the pie before bracing himself to go outside. Dean's sadness can be overwhelming and palpable and he knows the target practice is an excuse to get out of the cabin for an hour or so.

He just hopes Sam will understand, and forgive Dean soon. "I'll be outside, Sam," he says.

Sam gives him a nod and Castiel heads outside, picking up his trenchcoat to battle the chill. Dean is already arranging empty beer cans on an old wall a few feet away and when Castiel joins him, he points at the porch steps. "Go stand there."

Castiel obeys him and Dean comes back, handing him a gun. Castiel takes a breath. "Dean—"

"This is a Taurus," Dean explains plainly. He points at the parts. "Muzzle, barrel, magazine, trigger, hammer. These are the most important. You get shit done with them." He holds up a bullet. "This is called a cartridge, not a bullet," he says, and Castiel mentally corrects himself. "The projectile that you shoot is a bullet. You gotta be careful when you fire 'cause the empty casing can hurt you."

"Dean, I—"

"Hold the gun with both hands." Dean pushes the pistol into Castiel's palm and arranges his fingers on it. He comes up behind Castiel and pulls his shoulders back, the touch of his hands making Castiel feel strangely good.

"Keep your shoulders squared," Dean says, pushing up Castiel's elbows to adjust them. "Eyes on the target." He turns Castiel around slightly and kicks his legs apart. "One leg forward, one behind, or recoil will have your ass."

"Dean…"

"Cas, do you wanna fucking do this or not?"

He looks into Dean's angry gaze. "I'm sorry. I would like you to teach me how to shoot."

"Good. Now…" Dean reaches forward and cocks the hammer. "Shoot."

"Now?"

"No, tomorrow."

Castiel understands this is sarcasm and braces himself, taking a deep breath. His finger shakes around the trigger and he thinks he's sweating. He was built to fight, yes, but never like this. Demons did not succumb to bullets and killing them wasn't evil. However, Castiel doesn't want to kill humans. He isn't violent, or someone who likes to murder.

He hears Dean sigh. "Oh, for the love of—" The gun is snatched from him and Dean aims shot after shot at the cans, each bullet hitting its target as they all get knocked off the wall.

Dean's expression is unfathomable when he hands the gun back to Castiel. "This used to be Sam's. You can give it back to him if he's interested. If you wanna learn, you can do that too, but don't ask me until you're sure you're not wasting both our time."

He exits into the cabin and Castiel knows now that Dean is still hurting just as much as he was a while ago, and the practice has done nothing to make him feel better.

He waits there, watching, as Dean re-emerges with a duffel and walks straight ahead to his car. He watches and watches, expecting Dean to drive away and come back after a couple of hours, but that doesn't happen. Slowly, Castiel pockets his gun and heads towards the Impala.

Dean is sitting on the front seat, one of the old newspapers spread on it, and he's laying out a few bottles, a long brush, and an old toothbrush before him. Castiel watches him as he reaches for a gun and places it, meticulously starting to take it apart.

"Are you cleaning your gun again, Dean?"

Dean starts. "Jesus, Cas! What the fuck?!"

"I'm sorry I startled you."

"Ring a bell or something, man," Dean huffs irately. "What do you want?"

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"I want to talk."

"Why?"

"You seem upset."

Dean's gaze is even greener when it meets Castiel's. His eyes remind Castiel of spring and apples and calmness and beauty, but he doesn't say this out loud because he doesn't want to bristle Dean further.

"I'm not upset," Dean mumbles, breaking eye contact and making Castiel wonder if that's what Dean always does when he lies.

"I would just like to keep you company, then. Watch what you're doing to your gun."

"I'm cleaning it. Nothing to look at."

Castiel sighs. "If you don't want me around, Dean, I'll just leave." He turns around, preparing to go back into the cabin, when Dean's voice stops him.

"Wait!"

Castiel smiles to himself and reaches back to open the door of the car. He climbs in, adjusting himself beside Dean with the gun-cleaning items between them, knowing Dean will talk when he wants to.

Dean wets the inside of the barrel with some solvent and sets it aside as he reaches for a Q-Tip to start running over one of the other parts that Castiel doesn't recognise. Castiel watches as Dean holds the narrow stick of plastic between the cotton, fingers delicate and careful despite their stockiness, and he watches the Q-Tip wipe out what looks like soot and residue.

The other parts are cleaned the same way, Q-Tip and rubbing, and Castiel is fascinated. Dean's got his tongue between his teeth, much like Sam when he's solving his crossword puzzles, and Castiel thinks of how both of them are so big—tall and well-built, but still so gentle, in nature and actions. They have big hearts and they have too much faith, and all of that has been broken. Repeatedly.

Castiel wonders how he got stuck with caring about a family he never knew about. From being an emotionless angel, he's come all the way here, and where he's from, he's a rebel and an abomination but he doesn't care. He thinks, for these two men, it's worth being all that.

"I don't know why Sammy's so pissed with me," Dean says suddenly, and Castiel is snapped out of his thoughts. Broken eyes meet his, and it's like a magnetic connection that he and Dean share—that they find each other's gaze every time. For Castiel, it is comforting to do this; to find this one person who seems to profoundly trust him even if he doesn't sometimes, and the purity of heart that Dean ejects from those eyes is like nothing that Castiel has ever seen.

"I mean," Dean continues, "I don't wanna whine—least of all to you, but…" He presses his lips together. "You know him."

"I do, Dean," Castiel replies. "But this time, I don't know why he's angry, either."

"Won't he tell you? I mean…"

"He does convey a lot of things without talking, and no, Dean, he hasn't said anything to me."

"I know he's changed and I haven't. I know he's been through a lot…" Dean blinks, his eyes shining, and Castiel finds himself taking a deep breath. "He was all I had," Dean says. "Him and Dad. I mean, when Mom died, I took care of Sam and I thought he'd give me a chance if I ever screwed up…"

"He doesn't completely recognise you."

"That's bull."

"A foodstuff from his childhood isn't enough to bring back repressed memories."

"Then why the fuck is he pissed at me?" Dean asks him, gritting his teeth. "If you have such amazing theories, Cas, tell me this too. Why is he still pissed?"

"I don't know."

"He knows who I am. He was missing for hours that day, Cas. He was mulling it over for all that time. You might not know that part of him, but I do. I know how he broods and comes to conclusions. And every fucking time something like this has happened, he's bitch-faced the whole time before deciding to fucking tell me what's pissing him off, just like now.

"And if that's not enough, ever since we got him back, he's been trying to recognise me, like he always had small memories at the back of his mind."

"If that is so," Castiel tells him, "I will ask him."

Dean's hand moves rhythmically as he pushes a cleaning patch through the barrel and removes more black residue. His fingers caress the surface lovingly as he feels for breaks and damages—like he's checking a loved one for injuries. He picks up another Q-Tip and some oil to squirt on it. "Tell me what he says, then," he huffs. "I think he'd rather have me out here than inside anyway…"

"Don't say that."

"I don't know what else to say." Dean finishes lubricating the parts and his hands go back to putting the gun back together. Castiel watches the stocky fingers again, covered in oil and solvent and black residue as they stroke and caress the gun like it's a beloved pet.

"You take very good care of your guns and your car," Castiel remarks.

"My brother too," Dean adds. "Until I couldn't anymore."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"You don't need to apologise."

"I am merely saying I feel remorseful that things are this way for you."

"Yeah, well…" Dean pouts, eyes still sullen. "Just tell me whatever Sam says."

"I'm going right now."

"Good for you."

"Perhaps you should watch."

"I'd rather not."

Castiel fiddles with his trenchcoat. "Maybe when you realise he doesn't recognise you yet, you might feel better."

"Really?"

"Dean…"

"Just go ahead, Cas. Please. I don't wanna watch."

"Okay." There is silence inside the car, and Castiel raises his hand, intending to either lay it on Dean's shoulder, or at least squeeze his hand in reassurance… _something_. In the last moment, he reaches for Dean's wrist again. "I'll be back."

"Cool."

Heart shattering over and over, Castiel throws the car door open and sets foot into the breezy evening to get some answers from Sam Winchester.


	7. But They Slipped Further Away

Dean sits in the car for all of two minutes before curiosity gets the better of him. He doesn't want to watch this; no, he doesn't even want to know; because, really, what's it going to be? Does Sam hate him, or does Sam not know who Dean is at all? Both scenarios are equally unappealing to Dean and he doesn't want to know… doesn't want to know.

Or maybe he does.

He feels the resentment for Sam grow inside him. He wasn't trying to do anything but help, but Sam doesn't seem to care. And, okay, Sam was in a fucking cage, but he can't act so fucking self-righteous all the time.

Dean puffs a breath of air and opens the car door, hearing it creak as he shuts it again, and then goes back to the porch, finding a spot outside the door so he can listen without being seen. He doesn't know how Sam and Cas are sitting, but he imagines Sam perched on his bed as always and Cas sitting beside him.

"Sam, I hope you know you're hurting Dean," Castiel says in a low voice, and Dean fists his hands, listening further.

"You know that?" Castiel asks again, and then— "If you do, why are you still doing it? He's been through a lot, and—" a pause, "yes, I know, Sam, but…"

Dean leans the back of his head against the wood.

"Do you recognise him?" Castiel continues. Dean's heart starts to beat in a frenzied thump at that; as he realises this is what he's wanted to know. About whether Sam knows, and why he's angry, and…

"You know. You knew when he made you the pasta?"

Dean bites the inside of his cheek. _You know_. Sam knows. Sam knows who he is. Sam is well aware, and…

"When did you start to recognise him?"

Dean waits for a minute before rushing into the cabin. Sam and Cas stop talking, Sam in the middle of gesturing to something behind Dean. When Dean turns, his heart skips a beat. It's his leather jacket.

Castiel starts to get up from beside Sam. "Dean."

Dean ignores him and makes his way towards Sam who is looking at him, eyes narrowed, throwing out his anger in palpable waves. Dean puts his hands on his hips. "So all this time, you were figuring out who I was, huh?"

Sam just glares at him and turns away, but before he knows it Dean is on his knees, shaking Sam by the shoulders. "Fucking look at me, dammit! You knew?"

"Dean, he…"

"Cas, go out and sit in the car. This is between me and him."

"Dean, please listen."

Dean grits his teeth. "Cas. Out. _Now_."

Castiel hesitates beside him but eventually starts to walk, taking his warm presence away from beside Dean. Dean's hands are still on his brother's shoulders. "Sam," he says, "I gave you a fucking order."

His brother flinches in his grasp, and Sam is turning around, eyes suddenly scared, even though Dean can still see the rage in them. "So," he says, "you pissed at me? For what, Sam? What exactly have I done?"

Sam's jaw clenches, but he doesn't answer. Dean shakes him again. "Answer me."

Strong hands are on Dean's the next moment, prying his fingers away from Sam's shoulders and before Dean can react, Sam lets out a growl and gets down on his knees, cold, hard fingers circling themselves around Dean's neck.

Dean gags, grasping at Sam's wrists and trying to pry him away, but Sam just squeezes tighter.

"S-Sa—" Dean coughs and struggles, and Sam pushes him to the floor as he gets up and starts to walk away.

Dean takes a deep breath, throat aching and swollen and in utter agony. "We fucking mourned you for years, you son of a bitch!" he says, emotion clogging up his chest. Sam stops in his tracks, but doesn't turn around. "I know you tried to call. I tried to look for you. I looked for you in Texas. I looked wherever I could. Everyone told me you were dead and I finally had to believe them. We fucking had a funeral for you, man. And then Dad…" He swallows, and he can feel the backs of his eyes prickle. "Dad up and bolted one day and the next time I saw him six months later, he pointed me in your direction before bleeding to death all over me.

"So I know your life's been shit and mine's been great in comparison. I came looking for you the moment I knew, but…" Dean lets out a small chuckle, trying not to let the tears take over. "And I'm sorry, man, this is the best I could do. I know that wasn't good enough…" He takes a shuddering breath and falls quiet, watching, as Sam starts to walk away again, without a backward glance.

**~o~**

"Dean."

"Go away."

"Dean."

"Leave me the fuck alone, Cas."

Castiel doesn't obey. Dean tries to turn as the angel crouches before him, his thumb reaching for a tear on Dean's cheek and wiping it off. Dean bats his hand away. "Stop touching me."

Castiel withdraws his hand and sits down. Dean's still on the floor where Sam left him. He doesn't want to move. He's just so, so fucking tired.

"So, I was thinking," he says, swallowing at his shaky voice. "I'll drop you and Sam off at Lebanon first thing tomorrow."

Castiel blinks. "Why?"

"Azazel's obviously looking for us. So you have Bobby train you and stay there with all 'em hunters. It's safer. Sammy will feel better too. He remembers. He tell you that?"

"I believe he did, Dean."

"Good, good." Dean feels a couple more tears trace wet tracks down his cheeks and swipes them away. "Guess I'm the loser, then. Fuckin' never figured out how to live by myself, and…"

"You mustn't blame yourself for this."

"You and Sammy pack your shit," Dean says. "The earlier we leave, the better. I'll rest up at the bunker for a night and get back here." He picks himself up off the floor, feeling sick at how pathetic he sounds, and brushes off some of the dust that stuck to his clothing. "So what do you want for dinner?"

"I will cook today," says Castiel. "Please talk to Sam."

Dean snorts. "You kidding me? You can't cook, man."

"You should talk to Sam."

Silence. Dean sniffs. "No. He doesn't wanna talk to me. I don't wanna upset him anymore." He reaches for the fridge and pulls out some chicken legs from the tiny freezer. "Think I could fry some of this for ya. If I could just soak 'em in—" He flinches at a hand on his waist, and then grits his teeth. "Don't touch me, Cas."

"Dean."

"Go away," Dean tells him. "Please. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

Castiel backs away slowly. "Okay. Okay. Sorry."

Dean shuts his eyes to regain his composure, and starts working on dinner.

An hour later, he's sitting on the bunk bed, ignoring Cas's glances while he and Sam eat at the dining table. Dean tries to finish his dinner as quickly as he can, so he can get to bed early and screw consciousness for a while because _God_ , right now he just wants to forget.

He pulls a strip of meat absently with his fingers, thinking of how he'd done this for Sam at the cage. He chews on it for a minute. He needs a plan of action now, because he has to bring Azazel down. Once Sam and Cas are back where it's safe, Dean needs to carry this out. That's the only way he'll get peace. The fucking bastard killed Dean's parents and ruined his brother. He tore apart Dean's family, and now he's going to see a bit of payback.

Dean's gonna ruin that asshole.

His toes curl in hatred and anticipation as he moves for another piece. He can hear Cas talking in a low voice, and he stops, and Dean doesn't look there, doesn't even want to see the hatred in Sam's eyes. He is tearing off some of the flesh, concentrating on the stringy softness between his teeth, when he feels his mattress sink beside him.

"Cas—"

"Dean?"

It's not Cas.

The voice is hoarse and small, almost alien to Dean's ears, but he knows it's because he hasn't heard it being used in a fucking _lifetime_.

"Dean." A whisper. He feels a hand on his knee, and Dean's looking up, up at Sam who just… who just fucking _talked_ after all this time, and he can't believe it, he can't fucking believe it…

Sam's eyes are filling up as his chin trembles. "How did Dad die?"

Dean's plate is out of his hands, shattering down on the floor as he meets Sam's gaze, taking in his little brother—all of him, from the fading scars to the watery eyes and the thin-stretched mouth and the furrowed eyebrows and the stupid hair, and…

His arms are around his brother, pulling him into a hug. Sam doesn't ask any other questions, doesn't talk about anything else and Dean doesn't, either. It's an eternity in a minute, holding Sam, feeling his face burrow into his shoulder for a reason other than Dean just being kind, and the soft, floppy hair against his chin. Sam and his broad fucking back and his familiar warmth and just _Sam_. All of Sam.

That night, neither brother talks at all.

**~o~**

Recognising Dean was like a slow haze lifting off Sam's mind. He'd thought Dean was familiar the first time he'd seen him at the cage, but then Sam's always known not to trust anyone; no one apart from Jess, Andy and the others like him. However, when Dean helped him that night, with his wounds and to eat and just generally around the cage, Sam thinks he intuitively already knew.

Coming back to the cabin brought back a couple more memories. The black, purring car which smells something like home and Dean's leather jacket which smells like comfort; they pinpointed things that Sam thought he remembered. He began to trust Dean some more. Dean never said how he knew Sam, but Sam was aware that he was either a very good friend or his brother.

The latter was confirmed when Sam went through withdrawal from, what Castiel said, was angel grace.

Dean refers to Castiel as 'Cas', though, and Sam had found that strange.

Sam knew exactly who Dean was after the macaroni and cheese. He'd rushed away, the memories shocking him and paining him because, really? All these years, and no one had even come for him? No one had even known where he was? And his family, which never gave up, was suddenly giving up on him? He'd remembered Nick's words, each time he'd had to endure all those hours in that godforsaken room.

_You are a monster, Sam. Just like me. Monster._

He'd thought his family had chosen not to save him because they reckoned he wasn't worth saving. Although he agreed with them; completely agreed after everything he'd done at Azazel's camp, his family's dismissal had made it all clear to him.

However, as he eases himself into Dean's arms now; Dean—the person who's been more important than anyone else all of Sam's life—he wonders how he could ever suspect that. He wonders how he could ever doubt his big brother.

Sam's not spoken for three years because he didn't see the point in it. No one at camp, except for the angels and demons, has spoken for a long time. However, for his heartbroken brother, Sam thinks that words are worth everything. And worth more than all that, is Dean.

Sam chooses to talk to the only person he's cared about more profoundly than anyone else, by speaking the very name that's mattered to him more than the whole universe.

**~o~**

Sam reminds Dean of when they were both children and Sam was just about two, toddling after Dean and calling out his name perpetually.

"Dean," he says, voice still hoarse from disuse, and he says it when he's confused and happy and sad, and like its fucking treasure and the most important thing to him on this planet. Dean can't deny the jump of happiness in his heart whenever he hears it. It's not that Sam really remembers the entirety of who Dean is; but he recognises him; knows that Dean's his brother.

Sam actually doesn't remember much of anything. He has vague memories, all mostly repressed, and often, he'll ask Dean to tell him stories from their childhood and before he was taken away to Hell. Dean obliges because it brings a smile to Sam's face every time, and it's the least he can do for a flash of his brother's stupid dimples.

Sam also struggles a lot with himself and Dean realises that he needs compassion and care. The smallest thing can set Sam off about all the shit he's had to live through at the camp. One day, Dean cut himself while cooking, and the swollen, red cut later set Sam into hysterics and a full-blown panic attack because he'd thought Nick had gotten to Dean too.

On most nights, Sam is plagued with horrendous nightmares. He wakes up screaming and crying out to Dean, trying to catch his breath, sometimes gasping for air and, on the worst nights, heaving up the contents of his stomach.

"It's okay," Dean finds himself whispering to his brother once he's rushed from his bed to Sam's on one such night. He pulls out a wad of Kleenex and swipes it over Sam's mouth, helping him lean against himself while he pants. He glances at the mess on the floor and readies himself to clean it. But first, he needs to ask Sam a question.

"You done there, or should we take this to the bathroom?"

Sam coughs, shakes his head _no_ , and buries his face into the crook of Dean's neck, who lets him rest there until the breathlessness and the nausea taper off. Once Sam's sagging sleepily in his arms, Dean hands him his amulet, letting him lie back down on the bed. Sam clutches it and falls back asleep, snoring away contently.

The next day, Dean tells Sam to keep the amulet to himself, but Sam refuses. He wants Dean to wear it, at all times, and Dean obliges, except in the times of said nightmares. And by then, Sam doesn't really mind if Dean's amulet is with him either.

Cas continues to go on supply runs. He won't let Sam or Dean do it even now, and Dean thinks his friend just needs to do the chore to make sure he's doing something. God knows Dean can identify with that feeling, so he lets Cas do his thing. They watch old movies together; him and Sam and Cas, on an obsolete TV, and Dean, more often than not, finds his brother's big, shaggy head rested on his shoulder by the end of it as Sam drools away to oblivion. And Dean feels stupid when instead of kicking Sam's ass for drooling on his shirts, he just smiles at his little brother.

"I think it is perfectly normal," Cas declares one day when he realises what Dean's thinking. "You have missed him."

"Shut up," Dean snaps at him, and then has to look away from the stormy-blue eyes boring into his. He has to admit; Sam is his brother and will always be special to him, but Castiel has moved up lots of places in the list of people who Dean likes. Cas is strong and silent and always there with his daily supply shopping and his pies and his earnest remarks, and Dean finds himself being thankful to have him around.

He finally feels like he and Sam have a guardian angel watching over them. And that is the best thing he can ask for, given the circumstances of his life. He thinks of this new little family he has, every day, and of the possibility of not being able to see Bobby or Kevin or Jo or Charlie ever again, and then he thinks of how that might have killed him, had he not had these two morons by his side.

And just like that, Dean's thankful for this messy, terrible part of his life.

**~o~**

"Tell me a story?"

"Sure, Sammy. Cinderella? Snow White? Little Mermaid?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Dean rolls his eyes at his little brother as he perches on the side of his bed. "What are you, a baby?"

"Please?" Sam puts on the lethal puppy dog eyes, and before Dean knows it, he's sighing.

"Dude…"

"I don't remember, Dean," Sam says dejectedly. "I can't remember."

"I know."

Sam opens his mouth reluctantly, then shuts it. "Forget it."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"They help," Sam replies. "They help me to…"

"I know." Dean nods. "I'll tell you a stinkin' story."

Sam beams at Dean. "Thanks, man."

"Yeah, don't thank me yet. I'm gonna embarrass the fuck out of you."

Sam's grin is wider. "Thanks."

"You're such a bitch."

"Jerk."

"Ugly."

"Slut."

Dean frowns. "I'm not a fucking _slut_."

"Dude, you tried to sleep with a lot of girls."

"Oh, and that's the part you actually remember?"

Sam shrugs. "What can I say? Even Azazel couldn't scrub that trauma away."

"Fucking bitch, talking like I did it in front of you."

"No, but you painted some gross pictures, Dean."

"Really? I fucking caught you and Maddie trying to go at it in the—"

Sam frowns, struggling to remember Madison, and then relaxes when he seems to have located a couple of her memories. "Shut up," he retaliates. "At least I didn't undulate all over her like some fucking cat."

" _Undulate_?"

"Yeah, Dean, it means—"

"Forget it. You're a fucking geeky pain in my ass." Dean swallows, Madison's memory bringing an ache inside him. Sam doesn't _know_. Jesus, Sam should know.

"Sam, about Maddie…" he begins, and his brother tenses, flashing a glance at him.

"She okay? How's she doing? I don't really remember her, but—"

Dean shakes his head. "Sammy, that assault at Texas… she… she didn't make it." There is complete silence when he pauses, watching Sam's widening eyes. He sighs. "I'm sorry, man."

"Oh God." Sam blinks a couple of times, clearing his throat as he starts to look away. "Oh God… Dean…"

Dean's hand is reaching for his brother's shoulder, gripping it. "S-She uh… she wasn't in pain, so…"

"She was so young, Dean," Sam whispers. "Why did we even take her along?"

"She was an adult and she _came_ along. It was her choice, and we can't tell people what to do, Sam."

"But I survived. I might have not been okay, but I'm alive. She wasn't even that old, Dean. We never took along people that young, and— _oh God_ ," he whispers again.

Dean bites his lip and scoots closer to his brother, throwing an arm around him. "Sam, she was a kickass girl. She went down swinging and she wouldn't want to go any other way. You might not remember, but she was pretty stubborn at training. She loved to fight and be out there."

"Maybe," Sam replies hoarsely. "And I can't remember but I just… she could have lived longer and swung some more, y'know."

"I know, Sammy." Dean gives him a squeeze. "But you of all people know, man, that life isn't fair."

Sam grits his teeth, lets out a shaky breath. He dashes a palm under his eyes. "We got any beer?"

"Plenty."

"Good, I wanna get drunk."

Dean nods, and lets his arm drop from around Sam. "Whatever you want." When he gets up, Sam's hand circles his forearm. He turns around to see a faint smile on his brother's lips.

"Will you still tell me, Dean? A story?"

"Yeah, bitch, I will."

**~o~**

"Surprise!"

Dean blinks once, twice, and tries to register that he's actually seeing the three people standing _for_ _real_ before him, in the doorway, and that he's not hallucinating them or something. Because, God, It's been so long… so fucking long…

Charlie pops inside, a flash of red hair and arms and he hugs her, grinning at Kevin and Jo, who are at the doorway, smiling just as widely.

"Aren't you going to invite us inside?" Jo asks him, briefly hugging him once Charlie's gotten off.

"Of course." Dean stands to the side and gestures for them to enter. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We wanted to help," Charlie replies. She looks at the single bed where Sam's asleep, blankets drawn over his face. "Is that—?"

"Yeah," Dean tells her. "He won't wake up for a while, though. And I don't wake him up 'cause he's… he's been through a lot, you know?"

"We get it."

Kevin, Jo, and Charlie nod one by one, eyes sparkling with wistfulness as they continue to look at the Sam-lump. Dean thumps a hand on Kevin's back and gestures to the chairs at the dining table. "You guys wanna sit down? Sasquatch sleeps the sleep of the comatose." He glances back at Sam as he says it, and sniggers. "He's not the crazy insomniac we once knew."

"He deserves his rest," Kevin mutters, taking Dean's invitation to sit down, pulling away his backpack. Charlie and Jo follow his lead, and they sit there in silence for a while.

Dean clears his throat. "So you guys want some coffee, or…?"

"Coffee," Charlie says, rubbing her eyes with her palms. "Man, was the drive long."

"I'll have some coffee too," Kevin echoes, and Dean looks at Jo, who shrugs.

"You got any beer?"

"We always have beer," says Dean, heading to the fridge. He pulls out two pints and goes on to grab the pot from under the old coffeemaker, pouring the coffee into two chipped mugs that he and Cas had just drunk from before Castiel headed out for his supply run.

Charlie hums as she inhales her coffee and Dean pops the cap off his beer, dragging the fourth chair out to sit with them. Kevin and Jo are engrossed in their drinks, too, and Dean checks his watch, wondering when Cas will return. He knows they've been doing this for a month now, but it always makes him nervous when Cas has to go, because of the uncertainty of their situation.

"So where's that angel you gushed to Bobby about?" Jo asks Dean suddenly, making him sputter on a mouthful of beer.

"I d-din't—" He swallows it down, chokes, coughs, and puts a hand on his chest. "I don't _gush_ , and he's outside getting some supplies."

"Dude, you totally did," Charlie tells him, leaning her head in lazily as she runs her fingers through her short hair.

"He helped me and Sam."

"So you just fell in love with the guy?"

Dean's face is warm. "Shut up, Charlie."

She smiles. "Just kidding, man, don't get worked up like some eight-year-old who's been told he likes a boy."

"I don't like a boy," Dean says. "I d-don't like boys. You know that!"

"Uh-huh, cool." She stretches, Kevin and Jo trying to hide smiles behind their drinks, and Dean begins to down his own beer in big gulps.

"How's Sam been?" Kevin asks him, keeping his coffee mug down, and Dean's never quite been so thankful for a change of subject. "You told Bobby he can't remember anything?"

"They're still with him," Dean says, "the memories. He needs reminding sometimes, but sometimes he can't remember no matter what."

"Does he know who we are?"

"Vaguely."

"And…" Jo glances back at him, lowering her voice, "Maddie?"

"I told him. He's doing better now." He pushes his empty beer bottle on the table, making a wet trail on the wood. "How have you guys been? How long you planning to stay, 'cause it's not very safe here, and—"

"We're staying as long as you're staying, Dean," says Kevin. "We came here to help. You called Bobby a month ago and then we had no news… and we just thought—"

"Yeah, I'd told Bobby I'd call again if something drastic happened," says Dean. "You guys didn't need to come here. It's risky."

"We're okay with that," says Jo. "We're adults and we're hunters and we know what this involves. Plus, there's a safer cabin that Bobby and Rufus had built together back at Virginia. We can all relocate there and we seriously just wanna help."

"I'm sure you do, but—"

"We're with you, Dean," Jo concludes, "and we're not leaving, okay? That douchebag is doing scary things in that fucking camp where they had Sam, and we think dealing with him needs more than just you three."

"How do you know what he's doing there?"

"Word about Hell got out when you escaped. Azazel pretty much had to put a sum on your heads."

"So when you can sell us and get rich, you're sitting here, risking your lives instead?"

Jo glares at Dean. "Shut up, Dean. That asshole killed some people back at that camp, okay? And you're not exactly as funny as you think."

Dean's gut clamps up. "At _Hell_? He killed people? More slaves?"

"Yeah, at Hell. And not the slaves. Some of the prisoners who were like Sam," Charlie tells him sadly. "It was on the papers—to warn us against rebelling, I guess, and he also promised immunity and money to whoever found you and Sam and Castiel."

The bad feeling in Dean's gut gets worse, and he swallows. "Who did he kill? Did they say?"

"Well, he didn't directly say he'd murdered these people… but… what was Sam's cage number again?" Charlie asks him, bending over and rummaging her backpack for something—probably the newspaper clipping.

"S-Seven."

"Got it." She pulls out a paper and smoothes it, and Dean watches as her shoulders slump. "The fire was in cages six, seven, and eight. Two people, Andrew Gallagher and Jessica Moore, were killed in it." Before she looks up, though, Dean's thrown his empty beer bottle against the wall, smashing it and sending the glass pieces scattering all along the floor.

**~o~**

Dean can't seem to find a good time to tell Sam about Andy and Jessica's deaths and when he does, Sam just gets up and exits the cabin without a word.

"You should go talk to him," Charlie says to Dean softly, watching Sam's retreating back. "Aren't you gonna follow?"

Dean runs a hand through his hair. "He wants to be alone, kiddo. I can read the signs."

"I know, I know, but he shouldn't be out there by himself."

"He's a fucking terrifying fighter," Dean scoffs. "He's gonna be okay. He needs his space, and I want him to have it 'cause I know he'll end up feeling better." He puffs his cheeks, blowing out a stream of air. "And believe me, I don't wanna sit here and wait, but I think… after all he's been through, he deserves this much, you know? He deserves to know himself as much as he wants to recall all of us."

"So you're just going to give him some time?"

"Basically? Yeah."

Charlie smiles at him. "You're a fucking awesome big brother, you know that?"

"I know."

"And are you going to introduce us to this Cas, or…?"

"He should be back soon," says Dean. "You can meet him in a bit."

Charlie's eyes sparkle mischievously. "Can't wait."

**~o~**

"You wanna come back to the cabin?"

"No."

"Wanna talk?"

"No."

Silence. "Wanna get drunk?"

"N-No."

Dean watches Sam run a sleeve over his damp cheek, and tries not to let his heart sink into his stomach. "Sammy…"

Sam sniffs. "I'll be okay. You go back. You must be hungry."

"And you aren't?"

"No."

Dean scratches his temple, and pats at the place beside him. "C'mere."

"Just go away, Dean, please."

"Sam," he says, "it's not your fault, okay? I know you're beating yourself up for this, and—"

"No." Sam looks up at Dean, making eye contact for the first time since Dean found him in the woods. "No, Dean. It _was_ my fucking fault."

"No, man," Dean repeats. "We sedated you and grabbed you out of that place. If anything, it's _my_ fault, okay?"

"No. Shut up."

"Really? You're gonna make a pointless argument about this?"

Sam takes a breath and shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes. "I loved her, Dean. I fucking loved her. And Andy was my best friend."

"I'm sorry, Sammy—"

"On the worst days," Sam continues, interrupting Dean, "when Nick was pissed and we came back barely walking, the only way I knew I'd get through the night was Jess. She was there—always there, and in that screwed-up world, she was…" He lets a tear slide down his cheek, voice breaking, "she was hope."

Dean feels his own eyes burn and looks away, reining in his emotions. "I know, Sammy."

"No, you don't," Sam mutters, another couple of tears falling from his eyes. "You know how thankful you are? That I'm alive and not dead like you thought I was?" He takes a breath. "You wouldn't have me here if it weren't for Jess."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't tell you how many nights there were that I just thought of ending it. I can't tell you how many times she pulled me back from the edge. In that first year, when I could remember…when I _knew_ , Dean, and I thought you'd never come, she was the only one. And Andy… he was always there, and those two were the only people I could trust.

"I stopped talking because Azazel and Nick made it painful and because I'd lost so much faith that I didn't want to say anything anymore. And I didn't need to talk because the two most important people in my life didn't need any words."

Dean nods. "Yeah, I know what that feels like."

"Do you?"

Dean feels a flash of anger at Sam's words, but takes a deep breath. "Did Dad never tell you…? About the time after Mom's death?"

"If he did, I can't remember, obviously."

Dean shrugs. "I stopped talking too. For months. Didn't see a point in it… didn't wanna."

"What?!"

Dean looks at his brother and smiles. "Guess you do take after me in some ways, Sammy."

Sam doesn't smile, but shifts closer, burying his face in his hands. "You think she's in a better place, Dean?" he asks in a small, muffled voice.

"Yeah, Sam." Dean picks at a loose thread on his jacket. "That place was literal hell, and I can see why Azazel called it that. We escaped and there's already a price on our heads and we have to hide from everyone. And out there, your life was just…"

"…miserable," Sam breathes.

"Yeah."

"So she escaped this, right?" Sam asks him, looking up as more tears streak his cheeks. "You really think so?"

Dean nods at him, clearing his throat. "Yeah, Sammy, I really do."

"Good." Sam sniffs, wiping his face. "Good." He starts to get up. "I wanna meet Kevin, Jo, and Charlie. I barely remember them, you know? But I remember we were good friends."

"I know. We'll go back when you're ready, Sam. They'll understand."

Sam smiles, dimples showing, and gestures towards the trail back. "Come on."

Dean gets up and follows. They hike back down, hands in their pockets and minds full. Dean wonders whether Cas is back yet and hopes he is, because he really doesn't want Charlie pulling his leg anymore and maybe she'll stop when she actually meets him.

They're at the cabin and the door is shut, so Dean assumes the others are inside and resting. Determined not to disturb them, he pulls out his keys and slowly opens the door…

… Only to be met by a scream and a yell.

"Dean, NO!"

That's the last thing he hears before something collides with the side of his head.

Dean staggers backwards, a sharp burst of pain spreading across his head and neck. He raises his hand to the wound, feeling sticky blood start to drip from it. In the cabin are Charlie, Jo, Kevin, and Cas, struggling against a few suited douchebags, and a pair of hands grabs Dean too, twisting his arms backwards.

"So, we did manage to find the great Dean Winchester, after all," a smug, female voice murmurs in his ear as a knife comes to rest against his throat. "I'm Naomi, by the way. Strange that we should meet like this."

Dean smells grapes and apples from Naomi and struggles, only to see Sam brought forward beside him, restrained the same way by another man in a suit.

Dean grits his teeth. "So that asshole Azazel finally found us, huh?" He smiles. "Kill us if you wanna, sweetheart, but we still broke out of there. We still gave you mooks the slip."

"Oh, this is not about Azazel, Dean," Naomi whispers. "This is about you taking one of ours to keep." She leans forward, her perfume sickening Dean slightly. "Angels are not meant to do your grocery shopping and serve people like you. But the piece of filth that you are, how would you know that?"

Dean takes in a breath. "So this is about Cas."

"Who else should it be about? Were you really thinking you and Castiel could hold hands and walk into the sunset one day without us ever catching up?"

Dean casts a look at Cas, whose eyes are directed to the floor, as though he's ashamed. "You can say that," he says, "except I had a slightly different plan for our future. But you're almost there."

Naomi doesn't reply. Instead, she looks at the hulking angel holding Castiel. "Inias, bring Castiel outside."

Inias starts to walk forward and Dean struggles harder, because like hell is he going to let them take his friend, his _family_ away from him like this. Beside him, Sam's growing increasingly ruddy as he struggles against his own guard. Jo, Kevin, and Charlie are the same, and Dean wishes, fucking _wishes_ they hadn't come at all, because, Jesus, they've only been here for a few hours, and they're already in danger.

He can't lose another person from his life.

Dean struggles some more. Castiel takes another step forward.

And then it all happens in a blur.

"NO!"

It's Sam, face beet-red now, as he finally battles against the grip on him. He pushes back an elbow into the angel's stomach, freeing himself. The knife clatters to the floor and Sam grabs it.

Naomi's hold on Dean tightens. "You shouldn't have done that," she whispers in Dean's ear. The blade on Dean's neck makes a small nick.

Dean tenses himself, taking advantage of the movement to butt his head back into the angel's chin. She staggers and he pushes back, freeing himself, but—

"KEVIN!"

Dean doesn't look, just grabs Naomi's knife, kicks her down, and goes rushing towards Inias while Sam fights with his own captor. Castiel's neck is starting to bleed. Dean aims a roundhouse at Inias, getting his knees, and Castiel falls out of his grip to crumple to the floor. Dean moves further and catches Inias with a knee to his groin, aiming a stamp at his belly. Inias falls down and Dean is over him, drawing a blade across his throat and killing him.

Sam is fighting with Charlie's captor, while Charlie and Jo tackle two other angels. Dean turns to see Castiel missing, along with Naomi and the dude who had held Sam.

"NO!" He runs out of the cabin to see them dragging Cas between them and he's reaching Naomi, fists all over her, knife nicking at her while she struggles. A pair of hands drags Dean away and a painful punch lands on his nose.

"Cas!" He pushes his assailant, breathes in warm, sticky blood. He tries to run ahead, but a kick lands on his back, pushing him forward on his stomach. Dean falls on the harsh ground and coughs as the foot comes to stamp at his back again.

He turns around a little, grabs the angel's ankle and disrupts his balance. There is a satisfying thud beside him as the man falls down. Dean rolls away, picks himself up and continues to run. Naomi, in the meantime, is pushing Castiel into a car as a small truck drives down the road. It stops, four more angels unloading from it.

Dean grits his teeth and tightens the hold on his blade. He has an eye on Naomi, who's trying to tackle a very combative Cas. He raises the blade, blocks the first angel's fist and ducks a knife, aiming a side-kick at another's stomach. Sam emerges from the cabin and rushes forward to grab one of the mooks around the neck in a chokehold. There's a sickening, cracking sound the next moment and Dean needs no explanation of what happened.

He ducks another assault and aims a kick at the angel's instep before slashing his knife against another's stomach. Sam's battling his second angel now. Dean aims another punch, knocks the knife out of one of his opponent's hands and slashes the blade across his throat again. He barely notices when the angel falls back gurgling, turning instead to the last angel that he needs to fight.

Cas is fighting too, Dean realises as he tries to block a kick and fails, a heavy foot pushing against his spleen and sending pain all through his body. He jumps back when a knife comes to nick at him. Meanwhile Cas pushes Naomi to the ground before starting to run back, and for a split second, Dean's just watching—

The blade gets Dean's side. "Agh!" Dean falls back, feeling blood drip out of the cut, and Sam's beside him, still in battle, eyes widening.

"Dean!"

Dean swallows, vision blurring in pain. He staggers up, fists raised, but someone pushes him, the knife slashing his forearm as it comes back, and he collapses to the ground again.

"DEAN!" It's Cas this time. A boot collides with the wound on Dean's abdomen. He grunts, gritting his teeth as blackness begins to creep into the edges of his vision.

"Dean!" The angel straddling Dean is pushed away, and a hand comes towards him. Dean reaches towards it, trying to move, trying to fight.

"C-Cas…"

His fingers brush against Cas's briefly, and he's reaching out to get a hold on Cas's hand, but—

"AAGH!" Someone punches Dean's stomach again. The angel is up from where he's fallen, and Dean yells out when he comes down to him, knees digging into Dean's abdomen. He grabs Castiel and starts to choke him.

Dean's stomach lurches in agony, tears falling out of his eyes and bile starting to inch up his throat. He can hear Cas struggle to breathe and…

"No! NO!"

A distant voice is yelling, probably Sam, and the weight on Dean lifts but only for a moment. There are footsteps again, a hand's on Dean's cheek, and he can hear Sam's frantic voice. "D-Dean?"

"C-C…" Dean opens his mouth, warm, sticky blood running down his side, and his eyelids are falling shut. He hears Sam yell, and more fists colliding against each other. There is a flash of something silver, and another yell.

"N-No—nn…" Dean's voice is barely there, barely a whisper. He hears the distinct sound of a falling body.

"NO, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" It's a female voice this time, and someone's running.

"JO!" Another female voice. Dean thinks he recognises them. People are fighting again, and…

Dean turns, to see a familiar form slumped beside him, the shape of his body silhouetted against the light of a truck. He can recognise this shape anywhere.

"S-S'mmy…"

Sam's not responding, just laying there. Dean needs to shut his eyes. He needs to sleep, but…

People are still fighting. He can hear it. Charlie and Jo… Charlie and Jo…

Where's Kevin?

"FUCK!" A car rumbles away somewhere. Dean blinks, the pain going from excruciating to numbing, and he thinks he's okay… it doesn't hurt anymore…

"Shit," a voice breathes, closer to him. "Shit, shit, he's losing blood!"

"Jo, I don't think Sam's doing any better, either."

"S'mm…mm…"

"Yeah, Dean." The voice is gentle, the hands are soft. Something presses against Dean's wound on his belly, and he yelps.

"It's okay," she says. It's Jo. "It's okay."

"Sam?" Another voice. Charlie.

Dean shuts his eyes.

"Dean, no." A hand slaps him. "Dean, up!"

"Jo, he's awake, but he's not moving."

"Who, Sam?"

Dean tries to shut his eyes again, but he gets slapped a second time.

"Yeah," says Charlie. "He's catatonic. We need to get them inside, and Kevin—"

Dean's belly gets pressed some more. He retches. "Shh," Jo soothes him, turning him over to his side, one hand on his back. Dean shuts his eyes again because it's too blurry to even see and he needs to sleep… just sleep.

"Jo, he's gonna freeze here and we can't lift him. How do we…?"

"I have an idea."

There are fingers on Dean's neck, and he feels something being pulled away. The tickle of string against skin… the amulet. "N-no," he whispers. "N-nn—"

"It's okay," Jo says. "Just giving it to Sam. It's gonna be okay." Her hand is on his back again and Dean's pain is gone considerably. He lets out a sigh before submitting himself to the waiting blackness and ignoring the voice ordering him to come back.


	8. He Lost All Else

It's a fuzzy but peaceful place where Dean is right now and he would really appreciate it if the people around him would shut up. He feels content as he tries to lose himself again to the black void around him. It's comforting, almost… well, except for _that_. Dean frowns at the dull ache in his head, feeling it become a constant, sharp throb.

He feels a sharp pain on his forearm and he twitches his fingers involuntarily.

"He moved!" says a familiar voice, loud enough to make Dean cringe. He vaguely remembers it belonging to a redhead he may know. Though right now, Dean concentrates on not crying out loud as the voice continues to send sharp jabs of pain rocketing through his skull.

"Shh!" whispers another female voice, different from the first. Jo.

"Sorry," Charlie apologises.

Dean feels himself starting to slip back into oblivion, but holds the reins on that because he's curious, and slightly apprehensive. What happened? Why does he feel like this, and why can't he hear Sam and Cas's voices, too?

He groans out loud, struggling to open his eyelids. Nothing is comforting anymore. It's just plain confusing, and a level of painful that's soon to become "excruciating." He wants to know what the fuck is going on, and make sure everyone is okay.

"That's it, Dean. Come on." There's a hand on his cheek. A small, comforting, familiar hand.

Dean sighs, scrunches his forehead as he finally blinks his eyes open. There's goo between his lids and instant, burning tears streaming down his cheeks. God, he hates it when this happens. He blinks rapidly a few times to clear out his vision and stares in confusion at the concerned faces staring at him.

"What?" he asks, slightly unnerved.

"Oh, nothing," says Jo. "Just that you pretty much scared the shit out of us, lost a lot of blood, and then decided to pass out for the next thirty minutes, making me and Charlie fucking drag you into the cabin."

Dean stares at his friend, his eyes wide. "Huh?" he asks in confusion. A particularly sharp jab of pain slices through his head and he grimaces, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Are you okay?" Charlie asks, sitting at the foot of his bed.

"I…don't know," Dean answers honestly. "What happened?" He starts to sit up slowly, but the room's going round and round, so he shuts his eyes again.

Charlie doesn't reply, though. Nor does Jo. They don't even ask him why he shut his eyes suddenly, and he starts to feel the worry creep in. A chill runs down his spine at the thought of the fight. He racks his brain, trying to remember the final moments of it when everything had been so confusing, and gasps when it all comes back to him.

"Cas!" he exclaims as his eyes fly open. "Cas and Sammy, I need to – I have to—" Dean stammers as he unsteadily tries to get to his feet. He hisses in pain, his side searing in a spectacular burning sensation, making him sit back down. He can vaguely feel Charlie's hands on one of his arms, supporting him.

"S-Saaam," he manages to moan. He can't bear to open his eyes… just can't and he's so dizzy and Sam and Cas and…

"Hey, hey. I'm right here." It's Sam, and it's Sam's gigantor feet pounding across rotting wood.

Dean forces his eyes open, searches Sam's blurry face with fearful, concerned eyes. His brother doesn't look too worse for the wear. Apart from the fact that he seems to be shaking slightly, probably from shock, Dean is relieved that Sam is okay.

"Cas?" Dean asks Sam, trying to look around the cabin without throwing up. "W-where's he? And—" he remembers who else is missing "—Kevin?"

If Sam was pale before, he's practically white now. Jo and Charlie move back a step each, as though they're afraid of something—possibly of Dean exploding, and this whole thing is setting Dean on edge.

"What the fuck is going on, guys?"

He watches as Sam sniffs, and after patting Dean's knee, walks back to his bed. He lies down and turns his back to Dean. Dean narrows his eyes and looks to the girls. "What is it?"

"Dean… we're sorry…"

_"What is it?"_

"Listen," Charlie tells him, voice panicky, "we tried, okay? We really did. But there was you and Sam and both of you were pretty wrecked. And…" She gulps. "They took Cas." The last words are whispered hurriedly, as though she's scared, and Charlie's eyes slowly go down to look at the floor.

Dean feels like someone has punched him right through the chest as the air rushes out of him. "W-What?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. We couldn't do anything. They attacked Jo and then pretty much dragged Cas away. They were strong and very fast. And… and _Kevin_ …" Charlie's eyes are blinking fast, pleading for Dean to understand, and not eat her up. Although, there's nothing here he can get himself to blame her for. He's sure she and Jo did their best. And he knows from experience that it takes a lot to overpower both girls because they're probably about ten times more badass than he is.

His jaw drops as realisation starts to sink in. Cas is gone. _Gone_. He turns to look for Jo, who is now standing near the kitchen counter sewing up a nasty gash on her right side, just above her hip. It doesn't look too deep but Dean knows how much any injury can hurt and admires Jo silently, watching her manoeuvre the needle and tie each suture off as blood drips out in little trickles. She probably hasn't even used a local anaesthetic, yet she's barely flinching as she calmly and steadily keeps going.

"It's…it's okay, Charlie. Don't blame yourself," Dean says at long last, wincing when he moves his arm. "What the fuck happened to me?"

"You lost a lot of blood. One of those doucheheads really got you," she says, pointing to the stitched and bandaged wound on Dean's torso. "Your arm was better but still bleeding. But we managed to fix it up."

"Thanks," Dean mumbles.

"How's your head?" Charlie asks.

Dean sighs. "Hurts. Feel kinda dizzy, but I think I'm okay."

"He probably has a concussion," Jo says as she walks back into the bedroom area. She pokes at the lit fireplace before going over and sitting down on the floor beside Dean's legs.

"So…" Dean begins, "did they take Kevin, too?"

"No," she whispers. "He's here."

Dean's heart jumps to his throat. "What?" He knows the answer to this but no, no, fucking just… _no_.

"He…we…fuck," Jo curses as she hastily wipes at her eyes. "Everything happened so fast." Her voice breaks. She clears her throat and points through towards the main room. In a far corner, right near the large table in the room, lies a figure that Dean hadn't noticed until now. And it's covered with a white sheet.

"We couldn't keep seeing him, so we covered him up," Jo explains, her voice choked up.

Dean's eyes prickle, and before he realises it, he's staring at the bundle. Kevin. That little geek who was always _there_. Always a friend. Who mattered so, so much. The tears escape the corners of his eyes, falling silently down his face. Kevin was just a kid. Just a fucking _kid_.

He doesn't know how long he's been looking at Kevin, thinking, until Jo nudges his leg with her elbow.

"Dean?"

Dean clears his throat, wiping the tears away. "How did it happen?"

"I don't really know. I just heard Charlie scream out his name and when I turned around, I saw one of those angels pulling out his blade from Kevin's…throat."

Dean barely holds back the nausea at her words.

_Fuck._

Kevin's dead. Yet another person Dean can add to the 'people I care about but can't fucking protect' list. First Mom, then Sam, who he got back (all broken) but still grieved for four years, then Dad, and now Kevin.

When the fuck was he going to stop losing the people he cared about?

Dean jerks out of his thoughts as Charlie gets to her feet and jogs out the front door. Dean doesn't miss hearing the broken sob that escapes her before she leaves. He sees Jo getting to her feet and stops her.

"Hey, I'll go after her. You get some rest."

"But—"

"No buts, Jo. I might be injured, but I'm not an invalid. You've already done enough. Seriously. Get some rest."

Jo hesitates and then blinks tiredly as she plops down onto the bed previously occupied by Dean. Dean gets to his feet and slowly walks to the front door. Charlie was always at his side when he needed her, it's the least Dean can do to repay her. Besides, Kevin was his friend, too.

It takes a while to locate her. He knows he's straining himself more than necessary but he soon finds Charlie sitting exactly where'd he found Sam when he'd run off mere hours ago. Just _hours_ ago, and Jesus, he can't believe so much could fall apart in such a short span of time.

He sees Charlie spot him and smiles sadly, watching her as she wipes at her face. He slowly walks over and sits beside her.

"You okay, kiddo?" Dean asks. Then he feels like banging his own head into a tree because how the fuck can she be okay?

Charlie takes a shaky breath. "I'm not usually like this," she says, chuckling humourlessly. "But Kevin, he…he was my best friend. Right along with Jo. That nerdy, geeky, kind, smartass in there didn't deserve to die, Dean. My best fucking friend in the whole wide world didn't deserve to die the way he did." Charlie blinks furiously as she tries to hold it together. She determinedly stares ahead, gritting her teeth and taking another deep breath.

Dean feels his own eyes prickle. Damn it, Charlie is right. "I know," he says. "But it's not like we can bring back the dead. If anyone knows anything about what it's like to lose all the best people in your life, I think you're talking to the right person.

"I'm not gonna tell you shit like 'it gets better.' 'Cause honestly, it never does. It still hurts every fucking day. But you know what? You learn to deal with it, you learn to live with it. You remember all the happy times you've had with them and you move on. You drag on, because they wouldn't want you spend your life mourning them. They'd want you to smile, make more friends, fight for what's right. And if there's anything I can promise you, it's that I won't let those douchebags get away with this."

Charlie sniffs, turns around, and puts her arms around Dean, resting her head right below his chin. Dean embraces her back, the two of them sitting in silence.

"Thanks," she whispers.

"Anytime."

She pulls away, and meets eyes with him. "Can I tell you something? About Sam?"

Dean nods, curious.

"When we got to you two, Sam was going to attack one of the angels. But then something weird happened. That angel took out this…mirror, I think. The minute Sam looked at it, he dropped to ground and curled up, shaking. There was this look of like…I don't know… he was all zoned out. Like he wasn't even here. Like he was seeing things only he could see, and…" She bites her lip. "Dean, whatever he was seeing was really scaring the shit out of him."

"Like a flashback?"

"Yeah."

Dean tries not to look too worried. "But he seemed fine right now, in the cabin."

"Jo handed him that necklace thing you always wear. And a few minutes after holding onto it, he just sorta…snapped out of it."

"You sure it was a mirror?" Dean asks.

"Positive." She gives him a small shrug. "Just thought you'd wanna know."

"Thanks, Charlie. I'll figure it out. Talk to him," Dean says. He slowly gets to his feet. "Coming?"

Charlie sighs, curling an arm around Dean back. Dean puts his around her shoulder. They silently follow the trail back to the cabin, knowing what they have to do next.

**~o~**

Frustrated and angry that he can't remember Kevin, Sam is the first one to head back into the cabin once Dean sets Kevin's wrapped up body onto the makeshift pyre. He feels sad that yet another person he knows, is supposed to know, is gone. Though again, he really wishes he could remember more. He makes a mental note to ask Dean more about Kevin.

Once he's made it back to the cabin, Sam picks up his pencil and one of the newspapers from the large pile he has set on the table and heads towards the back. He sits cross-legged on the lower bunk of the bed, and quietly opens up the page with the crossword.

He doesn't know why, but it calms him down, brings peace to him. It's something he has control over, and busying his mind with something so ordinary and mundane makes him feel good. He sits quietly, the faint crackling of burning wood and the scratching of his pencil on paper the only sounds that he can hear.

He wonders if he's being insensitive by leaving everyone out there. But the fire just kept reminding him of the brand on his back. It's like Sam could feel the pain of getting it all over again.

_"You're weak! Pathetic! I'm not surprised your brother never came for you, Sammy."_

Sam jumps, heartbeat skyrocketing. He looks around the room and sees nothing. But he'd know that voice anywhere after hearing it over and over for four years. Sam ignores it and goes back to solving the crossword puzzle, steeling himself to stop his hands from shaking too much.

_"You're a monster, Sam. Just like everyone else out there. And you're always going to be a monster."_

"Shut up," Sam whispers to himself, closing his eyes in fear. He's out. Dean said he was out. Sam drops the pencil and clutches his hair, pulling his knees up to himself.

_"I might just hurt you less if you stop fighting this, Sam."_

_"Dean would be so disappointed in you right now, Sam."_

_"Scream for me, Sam. SCREAM!"_

And someone's yelling and howling and sobbing and Sam can't take it and…

_"Sam!"_

_"Sammy!"_

"Sam!"

Sam gasps, eyes flying open. The sound dies in his throat when he realizes it was he who was screaming. He looks with wide eyes towards Dean, whose expression shows nothing but worry and concern.

"Sam, you okay?" Charlie asks.

Sam gulps. Dean looks towards the two girls, who take their cue to leave the room. Then he turns back to Sam.

"What's wrong?"

Sam hesitates. Dean's gonna think he's crazy if he tells him the truth. But if he doesn't tell the truth then Dean will be mad.

"Sam. You know you can trust me, right? If we wanna fix anything, we need to work together. You know that, don't you?"

"I'm fine. I just…feel a little weird. I felt like I was…back there again. I could…I just…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare any of you. I just blacked out a little, I'm fine."

Dean gives Sam a once over, scrutinising him. Sam tries to keep his expression neutral. He didn't necessarily lie to Dean, so he has nothing to worry about.

He feels a lot calmer as Dean asks, "You sure?"

"Yeah."

"You'd tell me if something was wrong?"

Sam licks his lips. "I would."

**~o~**

"This is not up for discussion!"

"But, Dea—"

"No, Jo! I said what I said and you two are going back to Lebanon or so help me!"

Sam groans as he blinks groggily, eyeing the source of noise with annoyance. Dean had suggested he get some rest. That Sam was probably shaken up after the whole ordeal they went through. Sam hadn't argued, willingly laying down and succumbing to a dreamless sleep. And now Dean's the one who's fucking yelling at the top of his lungs.

_Rest, my ass._

Sam pulls the pillow over his ears, trying to drown out the noise until he actually hears what his brother and the two girls are arguing about.

"You aren't doing this alone!" Jo yells.

"Kevin was our friend, too, Dean!" Charlie joins in.

Sam lifts the pillow off his ears as he watches Dean pinch the bridge of his nose. He may not remember a lot, but he can still read his brother well. And right now, Dean is stressed, irritated, and almost at his breaking point.

"I can't," he hears Dean say in a rather sombre tone.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asks, putting up a hand to silence Jo's retort.

"I'm tired of losing everyone around me. I lost Sam four years ago, my dad a month ago, and now Kevin. I don't think I can keep adding names to this fucking list. If you two are back at the bunker, I'll know you're safe. I'll know that there are people like Bobby around to protect you. People I can trust.

"It's too dangerous out here and if I lose…just, please. You've done enough. I can't ask more. I just want you to do this one thing, okay? I can't lose anyone else. Not anymore."

Sam doesn't realize he's holding his breath until Dean stops talking. He's rarely ever heard Dean express his feelings, and listening to it all makes something twinge at his heart. And he knows Dean's really hurting right now just because he decided to open up a little bit.

Sam sits up in bed, playing with a loose thread on the mattress.

"Okay," Jo says finally. "We'll go. But only if you promise something."

"What?" Dean asks.

"Promise you'll make it back. That you'll come back to the bunker. That you won't end up dying on us."

"Jo—"

"Promise me, Dean, and I'll walk out that door. Otherwise, I'm staying right here."

Sam strains to hear his brother's answer.

"I promise."

There is silence. "Okay." A small puff of breath. "Bye, Dean," says Charlie at long last.

"Bye," Jo echoes. She and Charlie must already have their stuff packed.

"Take care of Sam."

Sam smiles to himself. Maybe when they manage to get back, he can get to know those two again. Remember them as good friends. If they do make it back.

They will, right?

He wants to go out and hug them goodbye, but settles on just sitting there, feeling like he doesn't really deserve to do that. He doesn't understand why, but this just feels right to him. He soon hears a car driving off and the shutting of the front door. Footsteps thud over the wooden floor and get louder and louder as they make their way towards the bedroom.

Sam looks up as Dean enters the room.

"Hey, you're up!" Dean walks over and sits beside Sam. "How you feeling?"

"Better," Sam answers.

They sit in silence for a while until Sam asks, "So…now what?"

Dean rubs his face with his hand. Sam notices how tired his brother looks, how worn down. But he feels at a loss of how to make Dean feel better.

"We need to move out of here," Dean says. "It's too risky to stay."

"But what about Cas?"

Dean grits his teeth and Sam feels like he shouldn't have asked. Dean really seems to like Castiel.

"We don't know where they've taken him, Sam. We're at a dead end here. We can't just recklessly go looking for him, as much as I want to. He's strong. He'll…he'll be okay."

Sam knows Dean's lying to himself, but Sam goes along with it, because he knows it will make Dean feel a little better.

"So where should we go?" Sam asks.

"I called Bobby a while ago. You remember him?"

Sam furrows his brows, a vague image of a bearded man in a baseball cap and a vest coming to his mind. "A little."

"He said there's another place in Virginia. A cabin kind of thing near a cliff. Pretty far out from civilisation so there's less of a chance they'll find us there. It's our only hope for now."

"What if Cas escapes? Comes back here?" Sam says, a thoughtful look on his face.

Dean frowns as he looks at Sam. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you broke us out of…Hell…with the help of Cas, right? He could escape from wherever they take him. How would he know where to find us?" Sam asks.

"How do you know he's not dead?" Dean asks, though he sincerely wants to believe his friend is alive.

Sam purses his lips before saying, "If they really wanted to kill him, wouldn't they have done it in front of us? Like Kevin?"

Sam can almost hear Dean think as he registers Sam's words. "Okay," Dean says. "For the sake of it, let's say he's alive. What are you trying to say?" Dean really hopes Sam is right. Because right now, Dean doesn't think he can take another person he knows and cares about dropping dead.

"I'm saying we leave a trail of some sort. For him to follow if he ever comes back here."

"Like what?"

Sam takes a deep breath, thinking, when his eyes land on the crossword on the ground next to him where he'd kept it before he'd gotten some shuteye.

"I think I have an idea."

**~o~**

Sam casts one last glance at the cabin before closing the door behind him and jogging towards the Impala. This place was his first home after a long, long time; a comfortable, cosy atmosphere for him, and he's going to miss it. He wishes they didn't have to move. But, well, there are worse things out there, so he reckons this is just their best bet.

He instinctively slides into the passenger seat and feels a sense of familiarity as he settles in, closing the car door. It feels like this seat was made just for him. He remembers a bit about the car and Dean always being by his side. Somehow, this makes him feel content.

"So?" Dean asks.

"Huh?" Sam asks distractedly. "Oh!" he exclaims, realizing what Dean's asking. "Yeah, I left it in there. Numbers down and across means coordinates. Down means north and across means west. You said he'd know coordinates, right?"

Dean nods. "He'd seen how it worked when we'd made a temporary stop at that ghetto until we had to bust out."

"Then I hope he sees it and figures it out. When he solves the crossword, he'll find the message I made."

"What message?"

"A message telling him to go through the trapdoor at a cabin by the cliff," Sam explains. Before they'd left, Dean had explained how the cabin would look and where it was situated so they could leave a message for Cas. He's unsure for a moment, and Dean catches that.

"What, Sam?"

"Th-The crossword is pretty easy to decipher, Dean."

"So what? It won't take him long to find us."

Sam scratches at his nose. "Yeah, but…"

"But?"

"What if a demon finds it?" The fear in Sam's heart is deep, pressing at him ever since he set the clues on that crossword.

"They won't," Dean assures him. "And even if they do, dude, they're not as nerdy as you or Cas to stop and solve crosswords. Don't worry." The ghost of a smirk is on his face and Sam glares at him, his heart lightening a little.

"Fine, then," he says, "let's go."

 

 

"Yeah." It's Dean's turn to hesitate now, his hands rest on the steering wheel.

Sam watches his brother for a few seconds, and then speaks up. "What's wrong?"

"He'll be all right, won't he?"

Sam stays silent, giving Dean the uncertainty he knows he dreads feeling right now.

"Sammy, please. He's strong, right? He'll make it out of wherever he is, right?"

Dean appreciates the effort Sam puts into his answer. "Yeah, he's tough as fuck, Dean. He'll be all right. Once he finds the clues, he'll be back with us in no time."

Though Dean knows that there's a possibility it's not true, he holds onto his instinct and his brother's words. That Castiel is alive and out there, fighting to be free.

**~o~**

Dean starts up the car and follows the trail onto a street. He hands Sam a map and with those instructions, it takes two days for them to reach Virginia. It's a tiring ride and they cannot make rest stops because they're not safe, but they take short breaks to leave out clues for Cas. Sam looks out the window at the deserted lands as they move on, fighting occasional carsickness and hoping to reach the cabin soon so he can stretch out on a bed.

They stop by an abandoned diner at their last pit stop for Cas and Sam finally leaves the coordinates for the cabin in Virginia, along with the same message.

He hops back into the car and after another few hours, Dean steers off the road and follows a dirt path. Another thirty minutes or so and Dean parks the car in the shade of some trees so that it's not spotted easily.

They both exit the car. They're at a cliff that's lined by an old, rusty guardrail and as Dean walks to the trunk to get the duffel bag, Sam realises the view before him is more beautiful than anything he's ever seen.

It's evening and the sun's just going down. The sky is bathed in pink, orange, and red as the sun dips into the horizon, colouring the water with the last of its rays. It feels so peaceful and it's kind of easy to imagine that the world beyond this cliff doesn't exist. That none of the things Sam has been through, exist.

_"Oh, Sammy. Getting a little too comfortable, are we?"_

Sam flinches, turns back, gulping when he spots Nick grinning devilishly at him. Sam takes a deep breath. "Not real. I'm out, I'm out. Dean got me out," he mumbles to himself, wringing his hands.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asks.

Sam jerks his head towards Dean. "Yeah, fine. I'm fine."

He watches as Dean stares at him for a second before taking off his amulet and handing it to Sam. Sam takes it, but just keeps staring at it.

"Just keep it for a while," Dean tells him. "My neck has marks from that leather cord. I'll take it back later."

Sam can tell Dean is lying. He feels grateful that even without words, Dean understands. That his big brother still sees right through him. It's a terrible thing sometimes, but then, it's also comforting when Dean can do this.

As soon as Sam closes his palm around the amulet, squeezing, Nick vanishes. Sam takes a deep breath, grounding himself before following Dean. He hurries over and takes the duffels out of Dean's hands.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"You didn't let me drive, even though you're still hurting. The least I can do is help carry luggage, Dean."

"I'm fine, bitch. And I don't think you even remember how to drive."

_"You're my little bitch, Sammy."_

Sam clutches the amulet tighter. "Okay, maybe I can't drive, but you're not okay, dude. You got stabbed. Badly. You obviously still have a concussion."

Dean curses, crossing his arms. Sam palms his shoulder. "You've taken care of me all my life, man. Can I please just do the same for you? Just this once?"

Dean sighs as he finally stops. "Fine, Sasquatch."

Sam grins. He watches Dean struggling to kneel down and stops him, kneeling down himself instead. Dean instructs him to dig at a spot in front of him. Sam digs until his fingers hit a solid surface; he wipes away the remaining dirt and finds the trapdoor Dean had told him about. He tries to open the door by pulling at the two ring-like handles, but it doesn't budge.

_"Weak, Sam. Pathetic. Useless."_

Sam grits his teeth, ties the amulet cord around his wrist, and grunts, pulling hard at the door. It flies open, sending Sam sprawling on his back.

Sam gasps as the ground rubs against his brand.

"Shit, you okay?" Dean asks, helping Sam up.

"Fine," Sam says, gingerly pulling his shirt away from the brand. "That sucked."

Dean chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. Sam picks up the duffel, unwinds the amulet cord, and holds it in his hand, following Dean down the steps that can be seen through the open door.

Dean whistles as they descend into one of the coziest interiors they could have had the chance of living in. The cabin is built into the cliff, hence the reason for the trapdoor.

Sam smiles to himself, walking towards the center of the room. There's a sofa in front of him, with a small television set opposite the sofa on a stand. A large window is set into the wall behind the sofa, and Sam smiles again as he sees Dean gaze out of it, a peaceful look on his older brother's face.

He then frowns as Dean looks down, gulps, and backs off a little.

"What's wrong?" Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head, turning red. Sam squints at his brother. "Dean, seriously. Something hurting?"

"N-No." Dean tears his eyes away from the window.

Sam throws Dean a glance, confused, as he walks over to the window. He gasps in awe as he sees the sheer height at which the cabin is set in. The river flowing at the bottom of the cliff looks beautiful to Sam, albeit being a couple hundred feet down.

Sam racks his brain, wondering why Dean backed off from the window. Then, a certain lost memory clicks into place and he grins, finally understanding Dean's look of embarrassment.

"It's too high for you, isn't it?" Sam asks, teasing.

"Shut up, bitch."

Sam laughs. For the first time in four years, he genuinely laughs, highly amused by the look on Dean's face. Soon enough, Dean joins him and they end up on the sofa, smiling at one another.

"Fuck. Don't make me laugh again. It hurts," Dean complains, gingerly holding a hand over the wound on his torso.

Sam gives Dean an apologetic look. "Well, it was funny. You're scared. Only because we're too high up," Sam teases.

"I swear, Sam. You shut that mouth of yours before I shut it for you."

_"Let's see how long it takes for me to make you scream, Sammy."_

Sam flinches, clenching and un-clenching his jaw, closing his eyes, and holding onto the pendant of the amulet so tight that the horns on it dig into his palm.

"Sam? Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam opens his eyes and looks away, knowing Dean didn't miss any of that. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Dude, I'm letting you take care of me, but that doesn't mean you have to hide whatever is bothering you. You fucking flinched, Sam." A pause. "Tell me what's up."

Sam runs a nervous hand through his hair. He licks his lips. "I…I can hear him. N-Nick. Like he's right next to me. I don't know. It's probably just…leave it, I'm fine."

Dean's brow furrows, as he looks at Sam with worry. "That's not what I call fine. Is it because of the mirror? Did it start this?"

Sam feels his jaw drop. How did Dean get to know? Did Cas…?

"Charlie told me," says Dean, "about what happened after the fight with the angels. Seriously, man, if this is something you need help dealing with you gotta tell me."

Oh God, and Sam fucking passes out (kinda) every time he sees a mirror. Exactly how happy or empathetic is Dean going to be about something as shitty as that?

He gulps. "Y-You seriously think a mirror is gonna make me see things, Dean? I'm probably just tired or something. I'll be fine, I promise."

Dean stares at him a long moment (and he knows, so Sam doesn't want to look guilty and he stares back). Sam's brother doesn't say anything further. He slowly gets to his feet, wincing a little. Sam follows suit and they both head towards a door on their left that leads to a bedroom. It's simple—two queens, each with a bedside table and a lamp.

Dean walks over to the bed nearest the door and drops onto it. "Wake me up in a hundred years, will ya?"

Sam chuckles as he sets the duffel between their beds. "I'll go check out the kitchen and stuff. You get some rest."

Dean nods, already half asleep. Sam gives his brother a fond look before walking out of the room to check out the small kitchen and the bathroom on the other side of the cabin. It's a simple place, furnished and stocked with everything necessary, and though they will eventually have to get themselves supplies, this is good enough for now.

Sam feels like lying down in the living room so he walks over to the sofa, opens up the sides, turning it into a makeshift bed, and ends up half-sitting, half-lying down. He doesn't know how long it takes, but soon enough, as the sun sets through the window behind him, his eyes fall shut and he drifts into oblivion.

**~o~**

Weeks turn into months. Every day, Dean waits, hoping that Cas will come back. It's _déjà vu_ because he remembers feeling like this the first few months Sam had been gone. He'd waited every day, hoping that Sam would waltz through the steel doors of the bunker, all right and alive.

Here Dean waits, sometimes spending hours staring at the trapdoor at the top of the stairs, just hoping he'll hear a knock or scraping, anything to indicate that Castiel is okay.

Dean appreciates the fact that he has Sam. His little brother is adamant and stubborn in taking care of Dean. Somehow, Dean loves it, purely because he can slowly see the kid he'd grown up with coming back to him. He allows Sam to help as much as he can without it hurting Dean's ego and pride.

Sam cooks most of the time, changes Dean's bandages, looks out for infections, and generally becomes a mother hen, teasing Dean about being the same way when they were younger whenever Dean complains.

Dean slowly starts getting better. Sometimes, it feels like the world outside them doesn't even exist. There are days where Dean is happy and content in their little bubble. In the cosy little cabin in the cliff. It feels so easy to forget about the death and destruction in the real world.

However, when Dean _does_ remember what's out there, he can't stand being in the cabin. He makes sure it's safe to go outside and then sits at the guardrail, legs sliding underneath and hanging down the cliff, watching the Evening Star. He reminisces about the times when his mother was still alive, how she'd always sit on the porch with him and tell him to make a wish.

Soon enough, Dean finds himself wishing. From one day,

_Cas, man, I need you. I really hope you're okay._

To the next,

_Hey, Cas. It feels so weird to not have you around. I kinda miss your stupid babbles. I kinda really want you back, man. I really hope you're alive._

To days on end.

_Cas. This seems pointless, this wishing on a stupid star. But my mom used to say that I could wish for anything, and it would come true. So here goes nothing. I wish I could have you back. I think something's wrong with Sam and I don't know how to make him talk to me. You know that side of Sam more than I do. I wish I could have you back so that I know I have family to rely on. I don't know, man. I just really need you back._

Wishing again,

_Fuck. Why the fuck aren't you here already? Am I doing something wrong? Should I be looking for you? Did you forget us, stop caring about us? About me? Please Cas, I need you. Where the fuck are you?_

And again.

_Castiel, I need you to be alive. I'll wait forever if I have to. But I need you to be alive. Please be okay. Please. I'll wait. Because I know you'll come back. You have to._

The only thing that keeps Dean sane is Sam. Sam, who doesn't give up even on the most dreadful of days, hums while making those terrible eggs, makes a face at bacon and demands healthy shit, and marathons TV with Dean, finally falling asleep on his shoulder and making his territorial circle of drool on all of Dean's shirts. Dean is in awe of Sam and his ability to brave through pain and just… just be Sammy, or whatever's left of him anyway.

Dean finds Sam remembering a lot more things than before but sometimes at night, he still asks Dean for stories.

Dean talks about the time Sam started liking marshmallow mix with his mac and cheese. How gross Dean thought it was but it didn't matter since Sam liked it.

Dean tells Sam about the things that happened when Sam was gone. How hard it was, but that it didn't matter anymore since Sam was back.

Dean tells him about the time Sam guessed he'd kissed Jo, and how embarrassing it was.

He talks to Sam about how good Charlie, Jo, and Kevin were in training. He quiets a little, though, once they start talking about Kevin.

"Was I good friends with Kevin?" Sam asks, sitting cross-legged on the bed farthest from the door in their bedroom.

Dean stretches in his own mattress. "Yeah. You two loved to geek out together in the library. You guys were probably the smartest people around at the bunker."

Seeing Sam smile at his comment makes Dean's day. Because he'd missed that smile for four fucking years and anything to make Sam forget, even temporarily about the horrors he went through, is worthwhile to him.

Dean talks about their childhoods, and how it was growing up in the bunker. Dean recalls tales of how they used to train together until they ended up being the ones teaching the younger kids to fight.

"Was I good?" Sam asks.

"Hell yeah, you were good. Though not as good as I am," Dean says with a wink.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

One evening, Dean takes Sam up the trapdoor with him. He sits in his usual spot, legs hanging down the guardrail. He's scared shitless of heights, but somehow, the railing makes him feel safe and he thinks he can do this. And sitting here everyday reminds him of how there are so many other fights he's capable of winning. Sam obediently sits beside him and Dean scans the sky for a few minutes, pointing towards the only bright star he can see in the sky.

"When Mom was…" he swallows, "uh, she used to sit with me, and you, too, when you were born, and she'd always point out that star to me. She'd tell me that it's the Evening Star. That I can wish for anything and it would come true.

"It's a stupid thing to believe in, but I don't know. You asked me yesterday what I did when I came up here every evening. This is what I do. I stare at the star, and make a wish."

Sam gazes in wonder at his brother and then at the star and shuts his eyes, mouthing to himself. Dean looks ahead, too, and they sit in silence for a long time, just looking up at the star.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me a story?"

"Don't I always."

"About Cas."

Dean stills. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. I don't really remember much of the first few days after you got me out. The only things that stand out are the crosswords. How was Cas? How did you get him to agree to help get me out?"

Dean purses his lips. "Well, he didn't want to be there in the first place. He's an oddball, but he's a lot more human than any of those other dick bags in there. The minute I asked if he'd help me get you out, he didn't hesitate. As for when we got you back, he understood you a lot more than I did at that time. All I did was get frustrated when you couldn't remember who I was. It was Cas who got you to do a lot of the stuff that I couldn't. I never knew if I could trust him, but something about the innocence in his eyes told me he was okay. He'd run out to the ghetto a couple hours away from the cabin to steal food for us, even though it was risky and even when there were no supplies needed, he'd go out anyway, just to get me pie. He knew I liked pie.

"He…he was probably the reason you got better in the first place. He always knew what to say, what to do when I didn't. I owe him so much, Sammy. I just really hope he's okay."

Sam sits, speechless. Dean appreciates Sam not asking any more questions, because he doesn't know how much more he can handle. He blinks and wipes hastily at his face when he realises he's crying.

"Do you love him?" Sam asks quietly.

Dean doesn't answer. He wrings his hands together nervously, looking up towards the star.

_Damn it, Cas. Come back, please. I need you. I…I love you._

 


	9. Until He Found Himself

**_Two Months Later_ **

Sam hurries up the stairs to open the trapdoor when he hears Dean knock. When Sam gets it open, Dean enters with two bags filled with supplies. He hands them to Sam and closes the trapdoor, locking it from the inside.

"That's all I could get. There was an impressive amount of security in that ghetto," Dean says, shrugging off his jacket. He frowns as Sam flinches and nervously digs in nails into his palm halfway through sorting out the stuff in the bags.

"You still seeing him, Sam?" Dean asks. He remembers when Sam had woken up one night, a month ago, acting as though he was being strangled when in reality, nothing had been there. He'd done everything to try getting Sam out of it, and when nothing had worked, Dean had taken off the amulet and pushed it into Sam's hands, closing his brother's fingers around it, pleading for him to come back. Sam had finally snapped out of it and after a while, explained how what had started just as voices had progressed to actually seeing Nick around him.

After that, Dean began keeping an even closer eye on Sam while trying to figure out how looking into a mirror had resulted into Sam pretty much hallucinating and having nightmares about his days in Hell.

Sam's hesitation gives Dean his answer. He sighs, taking off his amulet and putting it around Sam's neck. "Keep it for a while, okay?"

He returns Sam's thankful smile before sitting down on the floor with his brother and sorting through the food, first aid necessities, and other odds and ends.

It's takes them thirty minutes to sort everything out and put them in their designated places around the cabin. Dean is crossing over from the bedroom to head towards the kitchen when he hears two loud knocks echoing in from the trapdoor.

"Sam?" Dean calls out, walking towards the sofa and pulling out a gun from under it. Sam rushes in, his eyes widening when he spots the gun in Dean's hand. Dean brings a finger to his lips, pointing towards the door. The knocks sound again, this time, three knocks and fast ones. Impatient.

Sam heads into the bedroom and comes out with a baseball bat that had previously been found by Dean in an empty cupboard in the kitchen when they'd explored the cabin to see what they could find.

Dean motions for Sam to get behind him and slowly walks up the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. He waits for the person on the other side to knock again.

Dean freezes when he hears not a knock, but a very familiar voice calling out from the other side.

"Dean? Are you in there? It's…it's Castiel."

Dean's heart hammers against his chest. He turns to Sam, wide-eyed.

"It could be a trap," Sam whispers.

Dean looks back up at the trapdoor, resisting the urge to push it open and pull Cas inside and hug him but he knows he can't. Because Sam is right. It could be a trap and that wouldn't end well for any of them.

But…

What if it's not a trap? What if it's actually Cas out there? What if all that wishing for two months actually paid off?

"Well, we have to find out somehow, right?" Dean whispers back. He ignores the warning look on Sam's face, takes a deep breath, and pushes the door open.

Dean stares, climbing up the last few steps. He looks at the angel before him, looks and looks, disbelief crowding every cell in his body. _No, this can't this can't…_

_Is he injured?_

There's not a single scratch on him, none that Dean can see anyway. He looks like the same guy that had helped Dean escape out of Hell, the same guy that brought him pie every day, the same guy that helped nurse Sam back to health.

The same guy that Dean fell in love with.

Cas's chapped lips widen in a smile. "Hello, Dean."

Dean hurries forward and pulls Cas into a hug. He doesn't know how long he holds on, smelling Cas's familiar smell, feeling his comforting warmth and soaking it all in. He lets go, clearing his throat, grinning from ear to ear.

"It's nice to see you smiling, Dean," says Cas.

Dean chuckles, looking behind him and spotting Sam smiling, as well. Dean steps aside as Sam walks up to Castiel and hugs him, too.

"So, where have you been? What happened?" Sam asks, letting go of their friend.

Dean spots an unfamiliar look on Castiel's face and tries to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. He motions for them to head on inside and talk, and once Sam and Cas descend down the stairs, he gives his surroundings a cursory glance to make sure no one was following Cas or had seen them before entering the cabin himself, shutting the door behind him.

"So." Dean walks up to the sofa, where Cas is now sitting. "You hungry or something?"

Cas shakes his head. "No. I'm okay. I got something to eat a while back."

"Yeah? Where? Because all the diners are pretty much abandoned. Unless you broke into a ghetto again," Sam says, brows arching in curiosity.

Cas shrugs indifferently. "Don't worry about it. I'm not hungry, but thank you for asking, Dean."

Dean looks at Sam, puzzled, and realizes his brother probably feels the same way he does. Sam discreetly tilts his head towards the kitchen, getting to his feet.

"Okay, well. I'm gonna go get some coffee. You…wait here, Cas," Dean says awkwardly and then follows his brother to the kitchenette.

Dean starts preparing his coffee while watching Sam glance again and again towards Castiel, who is now examining the TV remote with a curious look on his face.

"Sam?" Dean asks in a low voice when he notices that his little brother seems to be getting more and more agitated.

Sam looks over towards Dean, accepting the cup of coffee Dean hands to him. "Don't you think he…he seems a little…odd?" Sam asks. "I mean, yeah, I don't remember as much, but…I don't know. I'm just…this feels really…weird. Everything about this seems off."

Dean frowns. "What do you mean?"

Sam pauses before continuing. "I mean that he's been gone for two months. He was kidnapped and dragged off by other angels. Don't you think he'd be at least a little bit unsettled or hurt?"

"So you mean to say that if he's not screwed in the head or hurt that something is wrong? Do you _want_ him to be hurt, Sam?" Dean argues.

"Of course not—"

"Then let it go. For all we know, he could have escaped and just been hiding from them this whole time. Not everyone becomes traumatized or unstable like you," Dean snaps.

He regrets those words instantly as a block of guilt settles on him. Sam visibly flinches, clenches and unclenches his jaw and shoves past Dean, retreating into the bedroom after setting his coffee cup on the kitchen counter.

Dean licks his lips, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face. That was definitely uncalled for. He knows how hard Sam's been working to be okay, and Sam's still far from that. But that jab at Cas had been uncalled for. Sam didn't need to say that.

… Or did he?

Dean looks towards Cas, who is still a little preoccupied with the TV remote. He frowns, wondering why his friend is acting as though he's never seen a TV or its remote before. They'd had a television set at Rufus's cabin, too, and Castiel hadn't acted this way then.

Deciding to dwell on that later, Dean walks over to the bedroom, knocking once before slowly entering. His heart breaks as he sees Sam hastily try to hide the hurt from his face. He wipes a hand down his face and heads to his brother.

"Hey."

Sam ignores him. Dean swallows. "Listen, that was a shitty move. I'm sorry, Sam. I…I didn't mean any of that."

Sam scoffs, eyes showing nothing but pain.

Dean sits opposite Sam, making his brother look directly in his eyes. "I swear, Sammy. I'm sorry. I'm fucking proud of you, all right? I know I don't say it much, but I'm saying it now. You're handling this a billion times better than I ever could."

Sam squints at Dean, scrutinizing him. "You mean that?"

"Yes. I do. Come on, Sammy. Give my prissy old ass one more chance."

"Prissy old ass?" Sam repeats, teasing. "Wow, you really do mean it."

Dean scowls, but it soon turns a fond grin as Sam starts laughing. "So, we good?"

"We're good."

**~o~**

Dean does his best to ignore that strange twinge of intuition in his gut, but every day, it keeps coming back to him until he starts to think that maybe Sam was right. Cas is definitely here, but he doesn't seem _normal_. Well, as normal as you can call an angel.

He just doesn't seem like the Cas they'd known.

Dean remembers how Cas used to be all up in his personal space, sometimes scaring the living daylights out of him. Now? Castiel maintains his distance and almost looks like he's zoning out in the middle of whatever task he does.

Two days into Cas being back, Dean wonders if there are things that his friend isn't telling them. Sometimes, when the three of them are having a conversation, Dean finds himself observing that Castiel soon seems to lose interest and starts drifting off, daydreaming with his eyes staring out the large window behind the sofa and his hands absently pulling at his shirt. And he's pretty sure Sam's noticing it, too.

Four days in, Sam comes over to Dean, who is cleaning their guns in the bedroom. He watches Sam look towards Castiel, who is sitting cross-legged on the sofa, staring out the window, before closing the bedroom door.

"Dude, can I ask you something?"

Dean sits up straight, listening.

"Do you remember the weird way he used to look at stuff?" Sam asks.

"What do you mean?"

Sam struggles for words. "Like…that weird squinty thing he used to do along with his head like…tilted to the side."

Dean blinks, realization hitting him. He'd been wondering what it was that kept bothering him apart from all the other obvious things, about Cas. Of course. He doesn't do that stupid head-tilting thing anymore.

"Dude, something's not right. Maybe he's hurt, or maybe he just doesn't want to tell us what happened," Sam suggests. They'd tried to get Castiel to talk about the past few days but every time they brought it up, Castiel would completely shut them out. He'd either walk out of the cabin and not come back for hours, or just sit and stare out the window, no longer seeming to be interested in any conversation.

Dean purses his lips. "I'll talk to him, don't worry."

Sam pats Dean's knee and exits the bedroom, heading towards the kitchen, it being his turn to cook. They eat silently that night, both Sam and Dean exchanging worrying looks over their food. As they all head to bed a couple of hours later, Dean decides to confront Castiel after they've all slept for the night.

The next morning, things go on as usual, Cas being just the same as he's been the past few days, and Sam and Dean going about their daily chores. Dean once again heads out to get supplies since they hadn't anticipated having a third guest so soon and are running pretty low.

He doesn't make it back until evening. As he enters the cabin, he sees Cas sitting at his spot on the sofa, staring out the window. He quietly hands over the supplies to Sam before walking over to Castiel. Sam immediately seems to understand Dean's intention and promptly moves into the bedroom so that Dean can talk to their friend in private.

"Do you like the sunset?" Dean asks, sitting beside Cas.

"Yes. It's very…mesmerising."

"Well, it's even more beautiful if you see it from out in the open."

Castiel looks at Dean, but stays silent.

Feeling slightly weirded out, Dean gets to his feet. "Come on. I'll show you."

Dean gestures for Castiel to follow him and he opens up the door and heads out, breathing in the fresh air. He walks ahead, making a beeline for his usual spot by the guardrail when suddenly he feels something crash into the back of his head. He yells in pain, stumbling forward a few feet. He looks behind him and his heart crawls its way up to his throat as he spots Castiel holding his blade with a manic look in his eye.

"Cas, what the fuck are you doing?" Dean exclaims, running a hand gingerly over the back of his head and feeling blood. "Shit," he curses.

"My orders are to kill you," Cas growls, twirling the blade in his hand and advancing dangerously towards Dean.

Dean gulps, knowing that Cas isn't in his right mind. He _knew_ it. Those douche angels must have done something to Cas. Dean narrowly dodges the slash of Castiel's blade and runs towards the entrance to the cabin. He's only halfway there when Castiel tackles him to the ground.

Dean struggles against the strong grip of his angel. "Cas, stop! This isn't you!" Dean grunts, trying to hold off the barrage of blows Cas is aiming at him.

Dean's yells of pain are cut off as Cas punches him in the face over and over, pinning him to the ground. He feels his face being pummelled, pain tearing through him, and there's nothing he can do to make it stop. Cas somehow gets around every defensive move Dean applies and soon enough, Dean's vision starts getting darker and darker.

Castiel then holds up his blade, ready to stab Dean when Dean holds out a hand, placing it on Cas's chest, right above his heart.

"Cas," Dean croaks. "Cas, it's okay. It's okay. I'm not mad, it's okay."

Castiel hesitates, hand still in the air, holding his blade.

"I love you, Cas. I love you."

Dean watches warily but with every bit of love he's ever felt for Cas blooming in his heart. He loves this dude. Fuck, so much, and he doesn't know what they did to Cas but Sam—someone needs to tell him, and it's okay. It's Cas. It's _Cas_. He loves Cas.

It's _okay_.

Something breaks and shatters between them. Something snaps, a burst of energy withdrawn, and it feels like time's stopped moving forward. And Cas emerges from his trance. He blinks a few times, expression changing from indifferent to horrified and the next moment, he's dropped the blade onto the ground next to him.

"Cas?"

"D-Dean…I'm—"

Dean cuts Cas off by pulling his angel towards him. He crashes his lips into Cas's. Castiel seems stunned for a second before he responds, kissing Dean back, his hands clutching Dean's hair.

They both break apart, breathless.

"Dean. I'm – I'm so sorry. I didn't….I couldn't stop. I don't…" Cas stammers, looking agonized and guilty as he gets off of Dean and helps him sit up, surveying the injuries he's caused.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm…I'm okay," Dean assures him. He slowly gets to his feet with Castiel's help.

"You sure?" Cas asks.

Dean smiles, kissing the angel again, revelling in the feeling of it. He never knew it would feel this right. Granted, he didn't want their first kiss to happen like this, but oh well. His life was always fucked up. But if it was fucked up with Cas, then he was totally cool with it.

"I promise. Now, how about we head back inside and explain this to Sam?"

**~o~**

Dean sits on the bed nearest the door in their bedroom with Cas sitting cross-legged at his feet and Sam on the other single bed, eye on Cas, who is fidgeting nervously with the belt of his trench coat.

Dean and Cas had entered the cabin to the sounds of Sam bustling around the kitchen, washing out the coffee mugs. He'd freaked out seeing the blood on his brother's face and Castiel's slightly bruised knuckles. It hadn't taken Sam long to put two and two together and he had picked up a frying pan, wielding it as a weapon. He didn't put it down until Dean managed to reassure him that everything was okay and that he and Cas would tell Sam everything once Dean took care of the bruises.

A few minutes later, they'd headed into the bedroom and had recounted everything that happened and now Sam sat on his bed, pondering over the story.

"So, you mean to tell me that he stopped hitting you when you said you loved him?"

Dean feels his cheeks burn in embarrassment as he nods.

Sam grins. "Could you two be _any_ cheesier?"

Dean scowls. "Very funny, bitch."

Sam lets the insult pass and looks towards Cas. "Hey, we don't blame you, Cas."

Castiel looks up towards Sam and gives a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "Thank you, Sam."

"Do you remember what happened, though? I mean, after they took you?"

"I do now."

Dean sits up, alert. This is new information to him. Cas hadn't admitted to it until now. "Well? What happened?" he asks.

Castiel pauses for a moment. "I don't remember much of when they were trying to get me into the car, but when we got there, I knew exactly why they'd bought me in. It was Naomi's headquarters. I don't really know where it's situated. They usually make you forget, kind of alter your memories so that you're only focused on the goal or target they set you on. They meddle with your grace, modify it to suit their plan. It not only gives us strength and power, but it kind of controls our actions if you know how to mess with it.

"Naomi, she…did what she wanted to for days and days. You can fight it, so they have to keep doing it over and over to make you forget that you're a prisoner. They make you lose all sense of control over yourself. Sometimes you can see what you're doing, you are aware, but you can't stop it. It's like some unknown entity is using you as their puppet. It's…not very pleasant. Anyway, that's not important—"

"What do you mean it's not important?!" Dean exclaims, indignant. "If that bitch did something to you, I wanna know."

Cas sighs. "Dean, I'm fine. Trust me, I've faced worse. There's something more important I need to tell you."

"What could be more important than that?" Sam asks, puzzled.

"Azazel. And you," Castiel answers.

Sam stiffens. "What do you mean?"

"When you're there, you tend to hear things. Some of the angels in that place are, for lack of a better word, _idiots,_ and they spoke about goings-on and other things in front of the other angels, like me, that they keep prisoners. They talked about Hell. Azazel has children like Sam in there for research, to make them into weapons of sorts. These children, once trained, can _kill_ demons. Azazel wants to really establish his powers over all the other demons. He wants leverage. And with these children, he could easily create an army and there wouldn't be many who would be willing or able to stop him," Cas explains.

"But how?" Dean interrupts.

"How what?" Castiel asks, confused.

"How does he know which kid to take? Like, I've been with Sam all my life, we've even been on hunts where we had to drive away demons from ghettos, save people taken by them. Sam never killed any demons."

"According to the angels I heard talking, Azazel himself created these children. He calls them 'special' children. He created them by feeding them his blood when they were young, only a few months old. How old was Sam when your mother died, Dean?"

Dean's brow furrows as he tries to recount the events. "Probably six months or so. Not more."

"Then there is a high chance your mother saw Azazel feeding Sam his blood, which is probably why he killed her. After they were all taken to Hell the blood was injected into them everyday during what Azazel referred to as 'training'. It gives them instant power, which is why they were at their most powerful after being trained. It is also extremely addictive. And, if these children weren't given demon blood every now and again, they could get withdrawal or go through detox. Those seizures and shakes that Sam went through after we got out of there—it wasn't a flu, it was him detoxing from the lack of demon blood in his system."

Dean looks over to Sam, who is white as a sheet, shocked at what he's hearing. Dean wants to say something, but doesn't know what to say. He's surprised when Sam somehow pulls it together and asks Cas a question. "Did you hear anything about mirrors, Cas?"

Castiel nods. "I'm not surprised you don't recall much about that, Sam. They trained you to forget about it. You've been trained by fear and blood. So much so that when they show you the mirror, they expect you to be scared, they expect you to be anticipating a certain torturous act being inflicted upon you. I saw you freeze up that day. This training by fear, it's the very reason they sent you and everyone else to Nick."

Dean feels unimaginable anger as he sees the broken look on Sam's face. "This is fucked up. What the fuck do they think they're doing?" Dean says, fuming and getting to his feet. "They are _kids!_ "

Castiel gets to his feet, as well. "I know, Dean. These demons, they don't see reason. And they've corrupted way too many angels for any of the good ones still out there to do anything that would help turn the tide against them."

"I want him dead. He ruined my life, Cas. I believed Sam was dead for four fucking years. I see my brother go through literal hallucinations and nightmares because of that fucktard and I can't do anything about it," Dean argues, partly wondering how Castiel is so calm.

Sam approaches Dean slowly. "Dean, it's all right. We'll get him. We just need to figure out a plan, okay? Calm down."

Dean takes a deep breath, looking his brother in the eye. Sam looks calm, confident, and Dean knows he's acting it up because if _he_ knew he had demon blood in him, he'd be freaked as fuck. But his little brother is keeping himself together for everybody's sake, and so should Dean, dammit.

Finally he nods, rubbing his face with both his hands while Sam sits back down on the bed, looking worn out. Castiel nudges Dean on his way towards the door.

"What?" Dean asks him.

"There is a way to kill Azazel," Castiel says in a low voice. "Though I don't believe you would agree to it."

Dean presses his lips in a thin line. "Try me."

"Sam," he whispers. "He was being trained to kill demons in the first place. I have no doubt he'd be able to kill Azazel."

Dean is exasperated. "Dude, that's a bullshit plan. Sam is not a nuclear warhead that we can just throw onto the playing field. He's my brother."

"And as your brother, I would want nothing more than to kill that son of a bitch," Sam says suddenly from his place on the bed. Dean realises too late that he's overheard the conversation.

"This is not up for discussion, Sam," Dean snaps sternly.

"Dean, he has a lot more chance of bringing Azazel down than either of us do," Cas says.

"I'm not asking for permission, Dean. Azazel didn't just ruin your life, he took away mine, too. And if I have the ability to break that douchebag's neck, then why the fuck can't I?" Sam argues, just as stubborn.

 _"Because I can't lose you again!_ "Dean bellows. He feels the anger drain out of him. "I can't…shit."

"It's for the greater good," says Sam. "No more Azazel. No more Hell. Just think about it."

"No!"

"Dammit, Dean, it's _my_ fucking life."

"Sam—"

"He is right, Dean," Cas interrupts him. "He should be the one to decide what he wants to do with the powers he has."

"Really? And what about…?" Dean takes a sharp breath at the two defiant faces staring back at him. He can't even believe them right now. Can't _fucking_ —

He remembers rolling about in nightmares and longing and longing and hoping and struggling when Sam was gone and now Cas and everything he'd wished for, and these two assholes…

After he's done everything, they just want to leave anyway. They don't care. They don't care one bit.

He blinks away the wetness in his eyes as he squares himself. "You know what, screw you. Screw both of you." His voice cracking. Screw these assholes. _Screw them_.

A tear runs down his cheek and he has had it.

"Dean…"

He doesn't listen to Sam, or the sigh that follows. Before he can think further he's outside the cabin and at the cliff's edge, settling down in his usual spot. He angrily wipes away the tears on his face. He can't even believe he's crying over this. But he doesn't know what else to do. No one ever seems to understand him. He feels alone in his battle. Azazel is the reason the only family he has left is Sam. Azazel is the reason that his mother died a horrible death and he and Sam grew up without her. Azazel is the reason his father bled to death in Dean's arms.

Azazel is the reason he felt alone for most of his life. The reason everything around him fell apart and turned into debris.

No one fucking gets how important putting Azazel down is to him, but damn him if he risks losing his brother over this. Damn him if Azazel somehow gets the upper hand and manages to kill Sam somehow. He's not taking that risk.

Not after all they've been through. Cas and Sam can just suck it up, because if anyone is gonna kill Azazel, it's not going to be Sam.

**~o~**

Sam and Cas agree to leave Dean alone for a couple of days. It doesn't look like Dean minds being ignored—if anything, he still seems pissed. Sam tries every now and again to talk to him but receives no response, so he just gives up and walks away.

Sam understands why Dean's angry. He gets his brother's reasoning. But he'd rather take a chance at his own strength and life than risk Dean's. And of course Dean doesn't get that. Would he ever try to put himself in Sam's shoes? No. So screw him.

Sam notices that every evening, the minute the sun starts to set, Dean is out the door and by the cliff, watching the Evening Star and the beautiful horizon as the sun slowly disappears. He enters the cabin much calmer, but he still doesn't bother talking to Sam or Castiel.

One day, about a week after the argument, Sam hears the trapdoor shut while he's washing up in the kitchen. Deciding that this has gone on for far too long, he sets his work aside and hurries up the steps, following Dean to where he is now sitting, staring at the sky. He sits down beside his brother, ignoring the slightly annoyed look Dean throws his way.

They watch the sky in silence until Sam gathers up the courage to speak. "You remember the day you told me about how you and Mom used to wish on the Evening Star?"

Dean grunts in response, still not looking interested.

"You know what I wished for that day?"

Dean doesn't answer but Sam can tell he's listening.

"I wished to not be a burden on you. For you to be okay and smile again like you used to when we were back at the bunker."

"Sam—"

"Dean, I get it okay? I get why all of this is such a big deal for you. I get why you don't want me to risk my neck for this. But…what _you_ don't get is that I finally feel like I can do something about this."

Dean turns to Sam. "What do you mean?"

Sam sighs, looking towards the sky. "I'm tired of feeling useless, man. I'm tired of feeling weak. I'm tired of letting a stupid reflection from a mirror make me see shit I don't wanna see. I can't even walk into our bathroom with the lights on, Dean, because what if the fucking thing gets reflected onto my face? That's how fucked up and scared I feel. I don't wanna kill Azazel just because he ruined our lives. I want to kill him because I don't want to be scared anymore."

Dean is silent for a moment. "You said the mirror thing was nothing."

"You'd think it's stupid."

"That Azazel, that fucktard screwed you up so hard that it fucking scares you to see the reflection of a mirror?! _Jesus_ , Sammy." Dean's angrier now. Sam's been denying and hiding and doesn't he still get that if he needs help, Dean's always ready to give it?

Sam sighs. "Look, that's beside the point, okay? Just… let me fight, man."

"But what if I lose you? I can't lose anyone else, Sam. You're all I have."

"And if you die fighting Azazel by yourself, you think I'm gonna be okay?" Sam argues. "Look, whether you like it or not, Cas was right. The only people that can kill demons are fucked up kids like me. So why not take a chance?"

"You're not fucked up," Dean mumbles. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say what I did that day when Cas got back. I was a douche."

Sam smiles wryly. "Dude, stop. It's fine. You were pissed, you told me some shit. It happens. Look. You can train me. Help me get stronger. Teach me how to fight again _properly_ , 'cause I know I can fight, but Azazel and the others know my moves. Help me get over the mirror thing, and we might honestly have a chance against these demons and angels."

Dean still doesn't say anything.

Sam looks defeated. "Please. Even if you do somehow make it through, I'm still gonna be scared. I'm still gonna feel useless as fuck. But just know that if you're going out onto that battlefield, guns blazing, I'm not letting you go in alone. I'm gonna be right behind you, ready to take those sons of bitches down."

Dean doesn't reply and Sam's shoulders slump as he starts to get to his feet, when Dean holds onto this arm, making him sit back down. "Okay," he says. "I'll train you. I'll let you fight and help you kill Azazel. But you're not walking out there alone, okay?"

"Okay."

And the silence that follows is warmer and more comforting than it has ever been.

They soon get to their feet and walk back into the cabin. Sam enters first and spots Cas giving him a small, sad smile before he retreats into the bedroom. As Dean enters the cabin behind him, Sam turns to his brother. "Dude, talk to Cas."

Dean looks taken aback. "Why?"

Sam just stares incredulously and Dean groans, finally getting it. He sees Dean walk up to the door, knock twice, and then enter before settling himself on the sofa, hoping that Dean and Cas can sort their shit out.

**~o~**

Dean enters the room and finds Cas sitting on the edge of the nearest bed. He runs a hand across the back of his neck, wondering how to start the conversation, but realises that he doesn't need to when Cas mutters something to him.

"What?" he asks, feeling a little stupid.

"I was just trying to help," Cas replies, louder this time. His gaze is fixed at the floor, refusing to move up.

"I know," Dean says, "and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. It's just, he's my brother, Cas. He's all I have."

"I know that, Dean. You aren't the only one that cares for Sam. I do, too. But I was trying to think rationally about our predicament rather than emotionally."

Dean exhales forcefully, irritated. His voice goes up a notch as he retorts, "Yeah, well your 'rational' thinking had a large potential for getting my brother killed."

Cas gets to his feet, looking just as angry. "I was providing you with a solution. Do you think it was easy for me to suggest that?"

"I don't know, was it?!"

"Of course, not! You know what, you can be a very selfish person, Dean. You may have been through a lot of pain over the years, but so have Sam and I. We're trying just as hard as you are to find a way around this."

"I see that, okay? I do! But when you two gang up on me and come up with half-assed plans, it's not exactly appealing."

"Well, at least we're coming up with plans!" Cas retorts.

"Yeah, if you call that fucking suicide mission a 'plan'. If Sam leaves, I have nothing. If he goes away, I don't think I'll be able to survive it. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"Really? Because I'm having a hard time believing that right now."

They're panting, red from arguing, and Dean clenches his fists as he stares into Cas's eyes, frustration and anger pouring out of every inch of him. How could he? Just how could Cas be so fucking stupid?

"Are you finished?" Cas asks him, face going back to being annoyingly placid as his tongue comes out to moisten his lip. "Because I understand, Dean. There is no use for such emotional blackmail against me. What I gave you was a suggestion. I am in no way forcing it on you."

Dean watches the tongue move over the ridges on Cas's mouth, wondering if that's how they get smooth, but then gets himself out of his thoughts and clenches his jaw. "Fuck you!"

He wants to rage some more because he's not done. He is _so_ not done. And he's so, so pissed that he wants to yell. Yell and scream and howl and storm and shake Cas until those stupid blue eyes of his are rolling off his stupid head. The fear, anger, and nervousness from the past few days are taking over, crowding his brain. He wants to fucking beat the crap out of Cas for being so fucking calm and acting like it's okay when it's obviously not, and God, _God_ , he just wants to…

_He just wants to rip Cas's clothes off and actually fuck him into tomorrow._

There's something in the pit of his stomach, sitting there in the deep, and he _wants_ Cas. He wants him so, so bad. The instinct is enough to rile him up and before he's aware of it, he's launching himself at Cas, hands grabbing his neck, pulling him forward to meet lips with him. He kisses Cas in rage and desperation, biting and bruising and listening to him moan. He sucks and nibbles, grasping at Cas harder, and feels a hand on his chest as Cas tries to keep up.

Dean doesn't slow down. Instead, he's just kissing Cas more, tongue running over warm, swollen lips and entering Cas's mouth to dash against his tongue. Cas tries weakly to pull away, once, twice, but then he gives up. He sighs, hands landing on Dean's waist as he grabs him closer, tongue flicking against Dean's in return.

Dean's hands are going down Cas's back, running all over him, fingers tingling as he enjoys the exploration. Cas quivers, kisses some more and his hands find the hem of Dean's t-shirt. They separate for a moment for Cas to take it off. They fall back into the kiss after as Dean palms the back of Cas's head and then down, feeling warm skin and cloth.

They're both a little breathless now. Cas gently pulls away from Dean's lips to mouth his jaw, sucking. Dean gasps, hands going to Cas's ass and upward to his belt loops. He entwines two fingers in them, tugs Cas forward, pushing his bulge against Cas's.

Cas's lips slide over to Dean's shoulder, nipping at sensitive skin. Dean hisses, lets Cas go lower. A tongue dashes against his nipple, wet and warm, and he shudders, feeling Cas's lips enclose it, puckering and letting go by turns. Dean grunts, goosebumps everywhere, grips Cas's hair as he continues his journey downwards. Cas's tongue draws a wet trail down, circling Dean's navel and he clenches Cas's hair tighter as he throws his head back, eyes rolling up and breaths stuttering out in little moans.

Cas trails back up and Dean bites the inside of his cheek, blinking rapidly as Cas mouths his other nipple. He waits for Cas to stand again and grips his ass, clenching his fingers in it, feeling Cas let out a guttural moan as he staggers forward. Dean halts to get Cas's t-shirt off completely and they look into each other's eyes for a moment, green bleeding into blue. It's ephemeral and transcendent and beautiful all at once and Dean takes one step forward to kiss Cas again.

Cas's hand finds Dean's bulge. Dean gasps, arching backwards, but returns to trail kisses to Cas's jaw and neck. Cas's hand pumps continuously at Dean's bulge and it's like they're both on a naked live wire, jolting and gasping and shuddering as Dean continues to kiss Cas, on the shell of his ear, his lobe, the side of his neck, then his shoulders, moving to his arm. Cas's breath hitches, Dean feels the goosebumps starting to rise against his mouth. He has to stop; halt in his steps because Cas's hand is creeping past his waistband and oh… _ohfuckGod_ …

Dean is already moist before Cas's hand is even in, precum wetting everything and he moans as he begins to fumble with Cas's pants, feeling Cas do the same with his. He own jeans bunch at his ankles first and Cas gets on his knees, pushing down the boxers completely to take Dean into his mouth.

He starts with kissing Dean's slit. Dean hisses, sliding into his mouth, trying to be careful. He revels in the feel of Cas's tongue on his head and then the shaft, wet and warm, and _oh, oh, oh fucking fuck_ he's hard he's so, so hard and he's… "Cas…" He wants to fuck Cas… wants to fuck him right the fuck now but not into his mouth, and…

He yanks Cas up roughly, kicking off his shoes and his pants and kissing Cas, shoving him further inside, past the beds and against a wall. Cas bumps onto it with a grunt and a heave of breath, sweaty and half-hard, and just too sexy for Dean to take in all at once. He holds Cas against the wall, one hand on his shoulder, and spits into his own hand and fingers. Then he moves closer to Cas to lube both of them as much as he can. When they're ready he brings both hands to hold Cas's waist as he enters him.

Cas cries out. Dean's out the next moment, watching worriedly as Cas hisses and presses his cheek against the wall.

"Sorry," he whispers to Cas, realising what he just did. He feels like a moron. "Slowly now, okay?"

Cas nods and Dean lubes his finger again, bending forward to kiss his angel's cheek before slowly manoeuvring his finger inside. Cas hisses. Dean kisses him again, slowly, reassuringly, and adds the second finger. He scissors, pecking Cas again and again, murmuring reassurances in his ear as he eases him up, stroking his hair.

When he pulls away, Cas moans and Dean enters him again, pushing slowly, listening to Cas pant and moan. He can't wait anymore—can't take much and his mind is in a state of frenzy, spinning in pleasure and ecstasy. He pumps over and over, slowly, smoothly until, with a cry, Cas comes all over the wall and the floor and everywhere else, warm jizz spurting out of him while he gasps and moans.

Dean smiles, buries his head in the crook of Cas's neck and continues, head and shaft slipping up and down, filling him and feeling it all mount until…

"Fuck!"

He comes inside Cas, spurting like he's never done before. Sweat pours down his face and every other part of his body and when he gets out to kiss Cas again, he knows there's a whole life and an eternity ahead of them to know each other in this way. He leans forward, kisses Cas's nape and grips him, a happy grin spreading on his lips.

**~o~**

Sam turns off the television, curious when the yelling a few minutes ago culminated into thick, daunting silence. What happened to these two? Weren't they just having a moronic shouting match two seconds ago? Furrowing his eyebrows, he walks over to the door and is about to knock when he hears what's _actually_ going on inside.

Eyes wide, he puts his ear to the door, turning red when he hears a loud moan.

Trying to rid himself of the mental image, Sam gulps and hurries up the stairs and out of the cabin. What should he do? Burn his ears off? Burn that part of his brain off, which will eternally have this memory? Oh God, oh God… he can't believe they decided to… and when they know he's inside the cabin?

Shit, he's going to spend his time near the cliff for at least an hour before he dares to go back in. He really doesn't want any more nightmares.

About ninety minutes later, Sam enters the cabin to find Dean and Cas making dinner together in the kitchen with Dean teaching Cas a few culinary essentials. Relieved, it makes Sam smile to see how happy his brother looks right now, along with Cas. Well, they've made up in a better way than he could ever imagine.

"Sammy," Dean greets, grinning from ear to ear. "Why'd you leave?" His expression shows that he knows full well _exactly_ why Sam had decided to bolt.

Sam tries to look as disapproving as he can. "You fucking jerk," he retorts. "Give a guy some warning, man. I'm traumatized for life now."

Dean laughs a full laugh, making Sam's heart light up in joy at seeing his brother so happy after so long. It's not like Dean hadn't been smiling before, but now, it just looked different. It looked a lot more honest. Sam has a hard time keeping that disapproving face on right now.

He silences Dean when he opens his mouth to say something, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I am not interested in details, Dean. Shut up."

Dean chuckles, putting his hands up in surrender and getting back to cooking.

Sam watches contentedly as Dean nudges Cas's shoulder, whispers something, and Castiel snorts in response. Cas becomes a little daring and palms Dean's waist when he walks by to get to the stove. Dean retaliates by holding Cas in a mock chokehold before finally letting go and giving his angel a peck on the cheek, and this time, Sam's almost laughing out loud.

Sam looks fondly at his small family, for once not giving a fuck about the outside world. If it were up to him, he'd replay this moment over and over. He feels slightly sad knowing that if Jessica were alive and here right now, he'd probably be with her just like Dean is with Cas. Well… with less trauma and embarrassment to the others. He hopes she's in a better place now.

What Sam sees in front of him, he considers family. He wouldn't care if they never got back to the bunker at this point. Because seeing his brother laugh and smile along with Cas makes Sam know that even if something happens to him in the long run, Cas will be there.

Dean will have someone to rely on, someone to get him through each day as it comes.

**~o~**

Dean didn't think he could fall more in love with Cas, but he was. He was falling so hopelessly in love.

Dean's heart lifts as he thinks of how every morning he wakes up to a soft peck on the mouth. It isn't something he's used to, and he responds by running teasing fingers around the waistband of Castiel's shorts and shoving them inside, enjoying every single moan and gasp he can elicit from his angel.

Sure, he does sometimes forget that Sam is in the same room as them, and feels a slight twinge of embarrassment when Sam awkwardly shuffles out of the room, but it soon disappears when he looks at Cas.

A few days later, Dean's cooking dinner and he nearly topples over the pot on the stove when unexpected arms wrap themselves around his waist, soft lips pressing kisses to the side of his neck. He turns around, nipping at Castiel's jawline. It's only when Sam yells out and shoves past them, running toward the stove, that he realizes he's burnt the food. But somehow, he just chuckles and makes sandwiches for them while Sam grumbles about brothers and boyfriends.

The moments that Dean particularly enjoys is trapping Castiel between the wall in their bedroom and himself, as he kisses the hell out of his boyfriend, biting and licking and enjoying, their bulges pushing against each other and breaths syncing and when he takes Cas by the hand to lead him to the guardrail so they can watch the sunset together.

Though he may never admit it out loud, he also really loves how he and Castiel can just lie in bed all day and not care about the world. They steal lube and condoms from a medical shop at the ghetto nearby. They almost get killed that night, too, but it's worth it when Cas fucks Dean in the Impala's backseat that day. They leave some lube and condoms for future use in the glove compartment and hope Sam never sees them.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean calls out one night as he holds on to his boyfriend. The sex had been exceptional today and Dean really wants more but they're both tired so he's got them both cleaned up. They had to wait a while for their heart rates to go back to normal.

"Hmm?" Cas plays absently with Dean's fingers.

Dean intertwines them with his own, pressing kisses from Cas's jawline to his neck.

"I used to pray to you," he admits.

"I know."

Dean is surprised, as he looks up at his angel. "How do you know?"

"We angels can hear the thoughts, or rather, prayers when someone is really, desperately calling out to us. We were made that way to be able to help trapped or attacked humans, back in the times of the war."

Dean looks wide-eyed. "Really?" he asks, feeling warmth rush up his cheeks when he thinks of all the things he'd said when he'd sat out near the guardrail.

Castiel smiles, the corners of his eyes scrunching up. "You are a very handsome man, Dean."

Dean blushes even harder. "Shut up," he mumbles.

Silence falls between them for a few minutes until Castiel says, "Your prayers really did help in that wretched place. So thank you."

Dean feels his heart yearn for his angel. "Well, I meant everything I said in those prayers."

"I believe you."

A few days later, Cas bakes Dean a wonderful apple pie. Dean wakes up one day, a little disheartened when he reaches next to him and finds the bed empty. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, getting to his feet and groggily padding his way to the main room.

He looks puzzled as he spots Castiel at the kitchen counter, hair mussed up and a look of concentration on his face. He's wearing Dean's apron, shirtless, and observing the oven as though it's about to lay an egg. Dean chuckles and walks over, just as the oven lets out a ping and Castiel bends forward to pull something out.

"Cas? What are you doing?"

Castiel turns around, holding up something, and Dean gasps as he looks at the glorious pie in front of him.

"I spent the last few hours trying to get this right. I had a little help from Sam with the instructions, but I hope you – mmf," Castiel is cut off as Dean pushes him against the counter, forcing him to put the pie down, and kisses Cas, hands wound around his angel's neck.

"Geez, you assholes," Sam grumbles as he walks in to spot his brother and friend basically making out in the kitchen. "Not in the kitchen, man. We eat here!"

Dean chuckles as he breaks off the kiss, throwing an apologetic look towards Sam. He then looks at the pie. "Thanks for this, Cas."

Castiel just continues to beam, looking just as proud of himself as Dean feels.

Dean really never ever thought he'd fall for Cas. But he did. And he doesn't regret it one bit.

**~o~**

If there's one thing Sam would change over past few days since Dean and Cas got together it would be the constant making out and fucking without warning him.

Sam doesn't know if he's ever gonna get the image out of his head from the day he'd accidently walked in on them. Another day, he'd caught them making out on the sofa. It's not that he minded it; hell, he was happy as fuck for his brother. But if Dean gave him some sort of warning or something, Sam would have been glad to leave them alone for a while rather than tarnish his memory and brain with the loud noises, banging headboards, and mental images.

Presently Sam sits near the cliff side, having taken up Dean's activity of wishing to the Evening Star. He searches the sky, soon spotting it. He has a longing in his heart and he wishes he could feel better about this, but he doesn't. He wishes he could get over it. He wishes he could stop missing Jess.

_Hey, Jess. I don't know how this works, but if it does, then just know that I really miss you. And Andy. You two were probably the reason I was the least bit sane in that place. While I hate that you two died the way you did, I hope you guys are at peace now._

_There's only one thing I never said to you, Jess, but you should know that when I was sane, I thought it all the time. I love you. I loved you and I'll always love you._

_God, I wish you were here right now. You'd love the sunset. You'd flip out over the cabin I'm staying at right now. It's such a beautiful place._

_I love you, Jess. Just know that._

Sam wipes away the stray tear that escapes his eye, and takes a shaky breath as he stands up, deciding to head back into the cabin. He's not wearing any warm clothes and sometimes it gets cold out here.

He climbs down the staircase and looks around, hoping he won't catch his brother and friend going at it again. It takes him a moment to realise that they are both decent right now and he heaves a sigh of relief. They're talking about something, though, and Sam hears his name in the mix, that along sufficing to pique his interest. Knowing he shouldn't be eavesdropping, Sam hesitates a bit before curiosity gets the best of him and he walks up, standing right outside the door, listening.

Dean and Cas, however, seem to have adopted silence. Sam's just about to leave when Cas speaks again. "Dean, can I ask you something?"

Dean hums in agreement.

"Okay, stand up," Cas replies. Sam can visualise the confusion on Dean's face. He peeks in a little more, finally seeing them there, both standing and facing each other. He wonders what Castiel is up to.

"Dean, I don't really know how to do this, but…" Cas trails off.

"What's wrong, Cas? You can ask me anything."

"It's…okay," Cas stammers and then takes a settling breath before getting down on one knee. "I don't really have a ring, so I'm just going to ask."

Sam almost gasps out loud as he watches the angel look lovingly up at Dean who is just plain stunned and flushed a deep red. "Cas, what the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm confessing my eternal love for you and asking your hand in marriage." And Cas is so, so serious, Sam's heart drops.

Dean's expressions go from shock to incredulity to confusion, until they finally land on serenity, and then he's chuckling.

"Dean, I would wait as long as you want but my knee kind of feels sore so I would appreciate a yes or no."

The chuckle gets louder until Dean's laughing, throwing his head back. He pulls Cas up and kisses him fully on the lips. "That give you your answer?" Dean asks, smirking.

Cas stares back, confused.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Of course, you moron. Yes. Yes, I'll marry you."

Cas beams and hugs Dean. He then breaks away from the hug, frowning to himself. Dean gives him a concerned look. "What's wrong?"

"I think it would have been customary for me to ask your brother's permission first, don't you think? To ask him for your hand in marriage?" Cas asks, looking a little crestfallen.

Sam can't help himself, so he barges into the room, grinning happily. "Well, you have my permission."

Castiel looks relieved and happy while Dean jumps out of his skin and blushes again, glaring at Sam. "Were you behind there, listening the whole time?"

Sam shrugs. "Well, I think we should look for some beers and celebrate."

Dean shakes his head and walks out the door, holding onto Cas's hand and pulling him along. As Dean gets over to the kitchen area with his now fiancé, Sam can't help himself.

"So when's the baby coming?" he asks, the grin growing wider on his face. "Am I gonna be an uncle now?"

"What?"

Sam laughs. "You two have been together, what, two weeks? And you're getting married. So," he says, eyeing Dean's increasingly incredulous expression as he continues, "who's pregnant?"

"Oh, you bitch, c'mere!"

Sam laughs hard, taking off and sprinting up the stairs and out the door as Dean growls and chases after him. He's taller and faster but somehow, Dean gets to him this time. Two hands grasp at his shoulders.

"You little bitch!" Dean yells again, tackling Sam to the ground.

Sam kicks at him, pushing him off and Dean rolls to grapple. Sam pushes him off again, still laughing as Dean gives up and just lies next to him as he shakes in laughter himself. They stay like that a long, long time, looking at stars, tears of mirth in both their eyes.

When they're calmed down Sam looks towards his brother, propping himself on an elbow. "Hey, Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm happy for you. You deserve this."

And Dean does. He really does.


	10. In Sickness and in Health, they Vowed

It's a beautiful evening when Dean gets married to Cas. The sun throws orange and purple and gold into the horizon, and the weather is just perfect; not too cold or warm and just a little breezy. Birds are starting to move back into their nests; a pall of calmness falling everywhere and Dean holds on to Castiel's hand while they walk up the stairs and outside the cabin with Sam following them closely.

They're dressed in the best they have; Dean with his least bloody shirt on and his best pair of jeans and Cas with that trenchcoat over the suit he was wearing when they'd escaped Hell. Dean had thought that Cas's outfit would bring back bad memories, but he's wrong. When he looks at his boyfriend–fiancé–soon-to-be-husband, all he remembers is freedom, and getting Sammy back. _Family_.

The view from the guardrail is exquisite today; trees and shrubs dancing in the breeze and the wind singing in their ears. Dean and Cas stand with their sides facing the rail while Sam leans back against it, grinning ear to ear. "You guys ready?"

Dean bites the inside of his cheek, trying to quell the nervousness. "Yeah," he says. "Cas?"

The blue from Cas's eyes bleeds into the green of Dean's as he nods, the smile and the eye-crinkles appearing together and making Dean want to take him then and there.

Sam clears his throat. "Okay. You guys got some vows or something?"

"Yes," Cas replies softly. "I believe I want to say something."

"Okay." Sam straightens up.

Dean's heart begins to thump as Cas, eyes never leaving Dean's, reaches to take both of Dean's hands in his. His grip is comfortable and strong, and Dean feels his own clammy hands start to get warmer with each second.

"Dean Winchester," Cas breathes at long last, Dean's name a prayer and a song in his gravelly voice. "I was created to fight and to protect, but I find myself paling in your comparison. Never have I met anyone; _anyone_ like you, so capable of loving and sacrificing. You taught me what happiness is and you taught me how to be human. You amaze me every day and you never cease to do so, and no matter how much I know you, I can never stop wanting to discover you more." He pauses to take a breath, swallow, and Dean's still looking into Cas's eyes and at the tears that are forming there. "Dean, you…" Cas pauses again, and nods. "You are extraordinary. You remind me every day of what it is to love. What it is to live. You told me what family is, and then you gave me one. I believe I am indebted to you; forever, and I also believe that I can never quite love anything, or anyone as much as I love you.

"You're hope and happiness. You're my light and the best part of me. And," Cas's smile grows wider, "I don't believe I can ever say this enough, but I really love you. I love you, Dean. Very, very much."

By now Dean will be surprised if his jaw touches the floor. Cas lets out a shaky exhale. "This day to me is like a dream. My life, ever since I met you, has been nothing less than beautiful. I want to stay with you, be faithful to you and spend my life with you. My eternity is your life, and every moment of me is you." Tears stream out of his eyes, lips trembling. "I love you," he repeats simply.

Dean's mouth is still open when he's done and he can't even turn to look at Sam because all he can see, all he can focus on right now are Cas's watery eyes, and his touch. He's never seen Cas cry; never even knew Cas _could_ cry, and everything he heard just now, it's so, so true because he feels the same for his Cas; for his angel, but he was never good with his words. What can he say, really, without sounding like a complete idiot?

"Dean?" Sam's voice is barely a whisper, as though he's struggling to speak. Dean feels a lump in his throat, hands squeezing Cas's when a few more tears break free from Cas's eye.

"Cas…" he begins, throat working as he tries to swallow. "Cas, I feel the same, man. And… maybe I can't… I… you're just…" warmth creeps up his cheeks, "you're fucking hot and sometimes I just wanna kiss you while you're giving me one of those stupid-head-tilting looks and I wanna be able to think that and do that my whole life, okay?" He raises a hand, palming the tears that have fallen on Cas's cheek. "So don't change. You're fucking sexy, and you're fucking mine, and I wanna be with you and make the other chicks and the dudes jealous."

Sam laughs and Cas is sniffing, nodding like an idiot while their hands find each other's again, his skin still incredibly awesome and toasty against Dean's. In the meantime, Sam clears his throat. "Okay, so you two are… man and man. Husbands. You may now kiss. Without grossing me out, of course, and—"

He breaks into a chuckle when Dean flips him off and grabs Cas's waist to draw him closer. He catches Cas's lower lip between his, kissing tenderly and feeling his well, fucking _husband_ wrap his arms around his neck. Cas's tongue comes to tease the side of Dean's mouth and then peeks inside, brushing with Dean's own tongue and Dean pulls him closer still as he begins to work his own lips faster. Cas tilts his head to one side and invites Dean's tongue further inside and Dean slows his pace for a moment before picking up again.

Sam clears his throat loudly. "I'm going inside," he declares, and Dean pulls away from Cas to grin at his brother.

"Thanks, Sammy," he says, looking at his brother sincerely. "Thanks for doing this."

Sam snorts and shrugs. "You're welcome, jerk. Now do your thing and I'll get my ass out of here."

"By 'doing my thing', you mean kissing Cas?"

"Yeah." Sam's dimples are showing and Dean can feel his brother's happiness radiate from him. "Whatever you guys do, because I'm not watching that." There is a hint of something else along with all that joy, though, and Dean can sense it.

He removes his hands from Cas's waist, takes two steps towards Sam and tugs at his shirt. "C'mere."

Sam doesn't move for a moment and then yields, letting Dean pull him into his arms the next moment. He laughs when Dean hugs him tight and returns the embrace with equal fervour. "You're such a bitch," Dean murmurs fondly as he cups the back of Sam's head. He can feel Sam melt some more, his face resting on the crook of Dean's neck and Dean thinks he knows what this is. He'd anticipated it ever since he'd told Sam that he and Cas were getting married.

Sam doesn't reply, doesn't say anything, and Dean rubs the back of his head. "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am." Sam has never told him this but the way he talks about Jess, Dean knows that if Sam had had the chance, he'd have married Jess too. And he knows from the fact that Sam woke up in the middle of last night with a panic attack, that he'd had a nightmare about Jess. Sam hadn't said it but Dean knows.

God knows, Sam's had his own troubles, his own set of broken dreams and a life Dean wouldn't wish upon anyone, and Dean knows he's recounting everything he could have had. However, Sam's so selfless, so fucking selfless and good, that he's up with the brightest of smiles and the happiest of intentions when _Dean_ ends up getting everything that Sam had wanted.

Dean can understand Sam's yearning for something like this. Dean had never even thought of it until Cas came along, but Sam had thought of it plenty, even before Madison or Jess. Hell, Dean had never even thought of all this until yesterday. It just happened… fell into place. But that doesn't make things any different between him and Sam, or erase the fact that Sam's still Dean's priority and pretty much the most important part of his life. It doesn't change that it matters to Dean very much that Sam's happy too.

He waits, holding Sam and watching Cas giving them both an expression of extreme love and adoration, turning Dean's cheeks pink. A moment later Sam pulls away and looks into his brother's eyes, guilty and happy and sad all the same. "I'm – I'm sorry," he whispers. "I shouldn't—you guys go on. I'm inside, working on dinner."

"Whatever you want, okay?" Dean says to him tenderly. "And hey, me and Cas are always gonna be here, for you. You know that, right?"

Sam is sheepish when he looks at his shoes. "'M not your fucking son."

"Yeah, but you're my little brother," Dean tells him seriously.

"I know that, Dean," Sam tells him exasperatedly. "Can I go now? Before you two start again?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "We're not _that_ —"

"—yes you are. You two are very gross."

Sam doesn't let Dean talk further. He just waves goodbye and opens the trapdoor to take the stairs back down. Dean watches him disappear and turns to Cas, who looks disgustingly stupid in the way he's watching Dean right now. If this were a cartoon, Cas's eyes would _actually_ be in the shape of those disgusting hearts, and this is embarrassing Dean more and more by the minute.

"Stop that," Dean tells him as he walks towards him.

"I can't stop marvelling," Cas replies.

"About what?"

"About the fact that you're my husband now."

"Yeah, well, guess we gotta get used to it. Although," Dean glances at the trap door, "I didn't think I'd ever be married, let alone have a husband."

"Good things do happen, Dean. And sometimes, those good things come in the most unexpected ways."

"I guess they do." Dean steps forward and winks at Cas. "So. Where were we?"

"We were kissing."

"Right. I love it when you're candid."

"And I love you."

"You done saying that for today?"

"I love you."

"Oh my God, shut up and kiss me now and stop saying that!"

"Okay."

Dean leans his face closer and pauses. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"I kinda love you too, man."

"I always knew that."

Dean tilts his head and kisses Cas again, beginning faster this time and brushing his lower lip with his tongue. Cas takes Dean in, Dean's hands are on his back, going down to grab his ass and Cas gasps against him as his fingers tangle in Dean's hair. They pull apart quicker, though, and Cas smiles wide at Dean when Dean takes his hand and guide them over to the guardrail.

**~o~**

Sam fishes out a knife and starts working on the chicken, feeling shitty about all the thoughts in his head. He can't believe he's thinking about Jess; about what it would be to lead a life like Dean and Cas and get married to someone he loves, but _fuck_ , he wishes, he wishes he could have that. It's not like he's jealous for Dean, because in all honesty, he's actually never been happier all his life. This is something he'd never ever have imagined in his right mind, Dean getting married, but what Dean and Cas have—Sam's glad they have it, because he can't think of anyone more deserving than Dean to be loved so fiercely and eternally.

Sam is glad that Cas is there for his brother. So, so fucking _glad_.

He puts the vegetables and the chicken in the pot, adds water, and sets it to boil. Then he makes his way towards the window, drawing peace from the scenery outside. To this day, it freaks Dean out to look out of this window because of the height (and this is the guy who sits at the fucking guardrail all the time so Sam reckons he'll never truly understand his brother). However Sam loves looking down at the gorge, at the distant sparkle of water. It grounds him, and it makes him think of how the universe is so much bigger, how nature in itself is so vast as compared to a single person, and how there are things out there that you cannot even know about, no matter how much knowledge you accumulate in your lifetime. Sam knows that Dean will call him a geek or a nerd for it, but this is the secret place in his head that he likes to be in.

He goes back to check on the soup, hoping that Dean and Cas are having a good time out there. At night, Sam thinks he'll vacate the cabin and sleep in the small makeshift Impala shed to give them some privacy. He'll talk to them when they return.

He smiles. He's just really, really fucking happy for his brother and his friend and he hopes this happiness will last in all aspects of their lives, although he knows he's expecting too much. But tomorrow, they'll start training. Truth be told, Sam isn't sure he wants to go through the motions again. Of sparring and fighting and listening to someone bark orders to him. However, he reckons it's Dean so it should be way better than Hell. At least… he shudders, at least Dean won't beat him up or cut him if he doesn't do as per his orders. Because, Sam is home. He is home and away from all those people.

He takes a deep breath and keeps reminding himself of this until Dean and Cas return. Keeps reminding himself about his family.

**~o~**

Dean wakes up in the middle of the night to Sam's whimpering moans. He opens his eyes, blinks at the dark ceiling for a while and turns to look at Cas pressed against him underneath their blankets, one leg poking out with the pyjamas drawn up to the calf. Dean's own arm is cramped from being under Cas as he's been holding his husband (fucking _husband_ , and he still can't believe it) to himself all this while.

He sighs. They need a bigger bed.

Sam moans from the living room again and Dean presses a kiss to Cas's forehead before slowly releasing himself from underneath Cas. He sits up, straightens his t-shirt, and hauls ass to his brother. "Sammy?"

Sam doesn't respond, just moans again, and Dean crouches before his sofa-bed, putting a hand on Sam's blanketed shoulder. "Hey," he whispers. "Wake up."

"N-No," Sam mumbles. "'M s'rry. I'm s-srry…"

"Shut up." Dean tries to sound as exasperated as he can. "What the fuck do you even apologise for these days, Sammy?"

"P-Pl's don'," Sam responds, as though he never heard Dean, which he probably didn't. "D-Don'… pl's. I din' mean… I din'…"

"Man, whatever you think I'm doing to you…"

"D'n," Sam sobs, body beginning to tremble. "Deeeeeaaan." It's a miserable, keening moan, and there are goosebumps on Dean's arms.

"H'lp… wh'r you? D'n pl's…"

"I'm right here, I'm right here." Dean puts his hand on Sam's head, rubbing in circles, but Sam's body arches.

"D'n pl's ge-gemme out'a… p-pppl's…"

"You're out, Sammy. We got you out."

"Pl's…"

"Yeah." Dean runs his hand down Sam's head, fingers raking through floppy, sweaty hair to massage at his scalp. Sam gasps, eyes rolling beneath their lids, and falls quiet at long last when he turns around, letting Dean continue with his ministrations. Dean sits there for a while, watching his brother and hoping the nightmares have ended. He's still running his hands through Sam's messy hair, thinking maybe it's high time the kid gets a haircut.

He stands up from his place and is about to leave to his own room when he hears soft footsteps padding towards him. A pair of arms wind themselves around his waist.

Dean takes a deep breath and leans back, letting Cas's stubble tickle his neck and feeling the joyful little tingle that tumbles down his spine. He palms Cas's arms, stroking his thumb over warm skin as Cas's mouth presses against his neck.

"You want to come back to bed?" Castiel asks him slowly, between soft kisses.

"'M not sleepy anymore," Dean replies. "I think I'll have a coffee and take baby out for a drive."

"In your t-shirt and boxers?"

"Hell yeah." Dean turns around. "You coming?"

"What about Sam?"

"He'll be fine now," Dean replies in a soft voice. "He had a nightmare but he came out of it. Stupid bitch wanted to sleep in the shed tonight—thank God I said no."

Cas starts to walk towards the coffeemaker, fingers interlacing with Dean's as he pulls him along. He finds a filter and some powder and they sit at the table in silence, waiting for the coffee to percolate. Dean finds Cas's leg with his toe and runs it up and down his shin while absently eyeing Sam now and again.

The room is dark, moonlight streaming in from the window and colouring Cas white and grey. His eyes are only and only on Dean the whole time. Once coffee is ready Dean grabs their mugs and pours it black. "Come on."

They take each other's hands again and head up into the chilly night. The breeze is strong now, Dean's boxers fluttering and sticking to his thigh as he navigates himself and Cas into their little garage for the Impala. She's right there waiting for them, her black exterior gleaming in the moonlight and Dean runs his hand over the hood once before opening the door for him and Cas.

There is more silence while they drain their mugs. The caffeine opens up and activates a few more of Dean's brain cells and warms him all over. He turns around to put the empty cup in the backseat and Cas does the same as Dean fishes his glove compartment for the Glock. He doesn't want to drive without being prepared and if they get caught, as Sam will be in danger.

"Shit," he mutters when he can't find it. "Shit, fuck, don't tell me I fucking forgot—"

It's not there. Dean lets out a frustrated sigh as he finds the door handle. "I'm sorry, Cas, if we're gonna drive, I think I should go get the gun—" He's opening the door when Castiel pulls him back with a hand on his shoulder. The car door falls shut again and Dean turns, only to have Cas dash their lips together.

It begins slowly at first, like it always does. There's no real desperation yet, and Dean just enjoys the feel of Cas's lips on his, the taste of Cas on him as he shuts his eyes and lets himself be drawn deeper and deeper into the kiss. He can feel the rest of him wake up—the parts that had been asleep despite the coffee, and his body is full and bursting with little electrical impulses as they race along from one end of him to the other. He realises how much he _wants_ Cas; how much he desires to entangle himself and bury himself in the warmth and comfort of his husband, and suddenly, the need and urgency increases fourfold.

Dean flicks his tongue over soft lips and then lets Cas in, licking and sucking at him. He can feel Cas's hands on his neck and he moves his own to the hem of Cas's tee. He lets them slide in and runs them over Cas's belly, circling his navel and touching the light flutter of his abs. Cas deepens the kiss, pulls Dean closer, and Dean traces his hand over Cas's waist and back, dragging fingernails over skin. Cas's breaths stutter, muscles quiver, and they pull back a moment for Dean to take off Cas's t-shirt. Cas reciprocates the gesture before they kiss again.

Cas starts to lean back against the window, draws Dean down with him, and lets Dean climb over and straddle him. He palms the base of his Dean's back and Dean moves over to hook a finger in Cas's own waistband. He traces circles with the other finger, lower and lower and Cas bucks against him with each stroke, growing hard.

Cas's hands reach down to Dean's ass. Fingers clench into his cheeks and before he knows it Dean is hard too. He pulls away a moment, reaches to undress them both.

They're naked and Dean lets Cas grab his face, gasping at each feather-light kiss that lands on the corner of his mouth, jaw and neck. Cas's teeth scrape against skin; he mouths Dean's shoulder, sucking, sending a rush of frenzy like Dean's never experienced before. Dean gasps, shudders, reaches for the glove compartment and throws it open to fumble for condoms and lube.

He tears the pack with his teeth, puts on the condom with shaky hands, and dabs lube over his fingers and inside Cas. He reaches in, scissors, Cas's boner prodding against his stomach as he arches and moans beneath him. With another breath, a moment later, Dean enters him.

Cas shudders, eyes screwing shut and mouth opening as Dean thrusts into him. "D-Dean…" it's a whisper, and Dean grips Cas's thighs and pushes in harder, getting Cas to gasp again.

Cas's legs are around his waist, arms around his neck, eyes half-mast and face sweaty as Dean thrusts. The electric impulses are back, running along Dean's spine, his hips and his legs and fucking _everywhere_ , and he bites his lip in ecstasy. "Oh God, oh God, Cas…"

"D-Dean…"

Dean's toes curl, body clenches up, and he thrusts again and again, bursting in the pleasure and ecstasy of it. He comes, gasping, and he's holding on to Cas like a lifeline, eyes shut and sweat dribbling down his face and back.

"Cas," he whispers, grabbing Cas's precum-slickened cock, thumb rubbing the foreskin and slit, down the shaft. He pumps at Cas's cock with his hand, again and again and the next moment Cas comes too, spurting all over Dean's chest and stomach. He's shuddering everywhere, saying Dean's name like a prayer, and Dean pulls away, bending over to kiss him slowly and softly. He manages to disentangle their legs and lowers himself into Cas's waiting arms, listening to a burst of thunder outside.

It starts to rain, the sounds muffled inside the shed, but little droplets still enter from the open window of the Impala and land on them, the breeze bringing them getting chillier. Dean listens to the raindrops pounding and chuckles deeply, lips on Cas's chest. "Looks like someone's celebrating our wedding, Cas."

"I should think so," Cas mutters. "It is quite the marriage; between a human and an angel." He lets silence take over for a while and Dean complies, listening to the sound of their breaths and feeling the rise and fall of their chests for a few moments.

"You're worried about something," Cas says at long last.

Dean cuddles in come more. "I'm just worried about Sam, man."

"Why?"

He looks up, and into Cas's half-mast eyes. "He wanted this, you know. And I never even thought of anything like this. But now I have it—have _you_ , and Sam…" _The love of Sam's life burned to death._

"He will eventually find his own partner," says Cas, his voice gentle and sincere. "Sam is a good person, and as far as I know, human beings are capable of loving more than once."

"Yeah, but that's if we ever stop hiding, right? If we ever get to meet new people?"

"We will."

"How are you so confident?"

Cas's arms tighten around Dean. "You taught me to believe. I am doing nothing, but implementing a part of your personality."

Dean looks up, places a swift kiss on Cas's mouth. There is another flash of lightning, some more rumbles of thunder. Cas breathes in and out, deeply, while Dean stays content in listening to his heartbeat.

"Dean?"

"Mmmm?"

"This is the first time I've actually seen rain."

Dean raises his head. "Seriously?"

"Yes." Cas's eyes rove over to the window, wistful as he smiles. "I don't know about my human life, but as an angel, I've only _heard_ it rain, and known it's raining. Never seen it."

"And how the fuck did that happen?"

Cas shrugs. "Just did. I suppose I never really had the luck."

"Dude, that's really weird." Dean starts to sit up and throws open the glove compartment, pulling out tissues. "Let's get cleaned up a bit then. I'm taking you out in the rain."

"Naked?"

"You don't think that's a nice idea?"

"Not really, Dean."

"Okay." Dean reaches for the floorboards and grabs their clothes, swabbing the semen off of him as he watches Cas do the same. He reaches for his boxers and pulls his tee over his head. "Come on."

Cas finishes dressing and they exit the Impala, the rain drenching them the moment they're out of the shed. Dean grins, looks up and lets the raindrops fall on his face, the breeze making everything much colder as he hugs himself. Beside him, Cas is spreading his own arms and just enjoying it and Dean finds himself watching him for a long, long time.

He advances a few steps, tips Cas's chin up with his finger, pressing a small kiss to his mouth. He's pulling away when Cas's arms come to encircle around him, and Dean hugs him, wanting to feel all of Cas's warmth in the cold, wet night.

They hold on like that, Cas's face still tilted upwards and towards the rain and Dean's forehead buried into his new husband's shoulder. They don't talk. Dean feels safe, comfortable, because he has the two most important people around him right now, one _right_ here and locked into an embrace with him, and the other sleeping soundly downstairs in the cabin. Dean thinks his life has been a big, huge mess, but it honestly has never been as good as this before.

Cas's hands come to cup Dean's face and their foreheads are pressed together, Cas holding them like that as he starts to rock slowly. Dean rocks with him, their bodies and feet moving in a gradual, synced-up rhythm. There is no music—just the sound of the rain, the wind, and their breaths as they continue to move. Dean thinks of how his life just took a turn—just like that with his dad's death, and though he wishes his father had been here to see this, he can't be more thankful for being sent on that journey to find Sam. He can't be more thankful for Sam being alive, and for Cas to specifically have been Sam's guard.

This is one of those things, Dean realises, had he knows about before, it wouldn't have made sense at all. However, it has all fallen into place now, like the pieces of a puzzle. And before Dean can do anything about it, there are tears, falling out of his eyes burning through the cool rainwater. Cas notices and his arms are hugging Dean again, turning them slightly as they continue to rock. Dean's knees buckle the next moment and Cas lowers them to the floor, hand moving slowly over Dean's shuddering back.

There has been too much pain, too much loss, Dean thinks, as Cas raises his face to kiss him under the eyes, and his damp cheeks, and then reaches to bury Dean's face into his shoulder. There has been too much agony in their lives. But maybe this is the end of it all. Maybe this is the route to how they're all finally going to be happy—Sammy too.

Dean desperately wants to believe this, hold on to all these thoughts, even though he knows that it's bound to go to hell one day. Because, who out there would let him and his little family be happy even for a while? This time around, however, Dean will make sure he doesn't lose anyone. Not again, and not ever.


	11. They Learned to Fight, Learned to Get Up

Sam doesn't know why his heart is thumping so hard when Dean pats him on the shoulder at breakfast and tells him to get ready for training. He nods at his brother, takes a bite of toast, and braces himself. Because he knows it had to start at some point. He hasn't fought in a long time; hasn't trained, and he needs to be at the top of his game if they're taking Azazel down.

It was Sam who suggested making use of whatever he has in him against Azazel anyway. If he shows any kind of fear—if Dean ever finds out, Dean will refuse to go ahead with it and Sam can't let that happen. He has promised himself that he'll comply with everything Dean says and even if things get bad, Sam will remember that Dean would never want to hurt him.

He doesn't want to let his family down, and he'll push himself as hard as he can to do this. He'll do whatever Dean asks him to. Because he owes Dean that.

"Hey."

Sam snaps out of his reverie when he hears Dean's voice. He takes another bite of the toast and looks at his brother. "Yeah?"

"Just checking that you're with us," Dean replies. His eyes meet Sam's. "You okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You know, right, that when we train, anytime you want me to stop…?"

"Yes, Dean."

"And you don't need to learn to do much anyway," Dean continues. "Just practice some hand-to-hand, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And I'll spar with you and anytime you wanna stop—"

"I _know_."

"Sorry." Dean looks back down at his breakfast, and Sam feels a nervous flutter tumble down his belly again.

"Don't worry about it," Sam manages to say, even though he feels like his throat is clogged from all the uncertainty. He takes his empty plate, washes it at the sink, and goes over to pick up his jacket. "I'm just gonna take a walk, okay?"

"Sure, man."

Sam smiles, pulls on the jacket, and tucks his hands into the pockets as he takes the stairs up. He thinks of Dean and Cas's tired faces and remembers hearing them entering the cabin late last night. But, well, he understands. They just got married, after all.

 _Wedding night_. The thought alone makes Sam cringe a little and chuckle a lot more.

He walks along the guardrail, feeling the warmth of the sunrise on his face. He doesn't know what training is going to be like; doesn't remember much of the _tame_ kind of hand-to-hand, because for a while, he'd just been breaking necks and running blades through people and defying them by using his size as an advantage. However, it's going to be different starting now because he'll have to use his cunning too, think some more before attacking. And the way Dean says it, it sounds like Sam had plenty of cunning before Azazel took him to Hell.

The metal on the railing is slightly warm and Sam finds solace in running his hand over it. He hopes Dean will not try to bring up the mirror thing because, although Sam wants to get rid of it, he doesn't think he can bear to go into that realm again. He hasn't slept well in nights from all those terrible dreams and he doesn't want to be haunted anymore. He knows Dean will not push if he asks, but there is also this intense burn in him to get rid of that terrible fear that Nick put in him.

Sam watches the sun come up some more and clenches his fists. Dean and Cas would have finished breakfast by now and will be getting ready for the training. If they start and finish early, they can all sleep some to make up for last night, and Sam doesn't want to delay that. So he makes his way back to the cabin, hoping to God that he won't walk in on Dean and Cas doing something bad enough to scar him. And then he chuckles at how they're such big morons and how it took so long for them to accept that they love each other.

But, oh well, at least they finally accepted it. That's gotta count for something.

**~o~**

"You think Sammy will be okay?"

"Of course, Dean." Cas touches Dean's fingers with his, watching him shovel scrambled eggs into his mouth. "He is very strong. I told you that. You've watched him fight too."

"Yeah, man, but he's been having a lot of nightmares lately, and I don't want…"

"You are nothing like any of those demons," says Cas. "You treat him well. With compassion. You will not push him. He trusts you on that."

"And what if I do?"

"You won't. I trust you too."

Dean forks some more of the eggs. He really hopes he won't get driven and scare Sam… because he knows he does it sometimes, has done it in the past when he's trained people at the bunker. However, like Cas says, Sam is strong. Sam might have fucking nightmares every moment that he spends sleeping, and panic attacks in ways that Dean can't even guess their triggers anymore, but Sam is tough son of a bitch. And even though Sam was the one who suggested going headfirst into a fight with Azazel, he's apprehensive about the actual training.

The bastards broke Dean's brother for good. Now Dean will be sure to fucking break them all.

His fork suddenly clatters to the floor while he's busy with his thoughts and Dean rolls his eyes at the utensil. "Don't even fucking know where my mind is at these days," he sighs, bending over to pick it up from the floor.

"It's very simple," he hears Cas say from above him. "It's on me and Sam, primarily. And then our marriage too; yours and mine, and our continued gallivanting these past few days and—"

"Cas?"

"Yes?" Cas peeks over at Dean from over the table, blue eyes blinking at him innocently, and Dean feels his mouth go up in a half-smile.

"C'mere," he says, getting down on his knees and dragging Cas's chair forward, towards him. He reaches for Cas's belt buckle.

"Dean…"

"Shhh."

"I believe Sam will—"

Dean grips at Cas's knees and kisses the inside of his thigh. Cas shudders.

"Still don't wanna do it?"

"Dean—"

He kisses Cas again, on the other thigh, rests his mouth on Cas's crotch, lips wet, nose touching Cas's mounting bulge. "Tell me you don't want it," he whispers, breaths blowing hot on old denim. "Tell me."

A full-blown shudder passes though Cas. His fingers are in Dean's hair, pulling at the short strands. "D-Dean…"

Dean kisses him, right there on his crotch. "Shut up."

Cas doesn't protest again. _Dean_ is half-hard already as he gets the belt to loosen and unzips Cas's pants. Cas is tenting, rising through his boxers and Dean adjusts himself on his knees to keep his balance as he pulls at the waistband to grip Cas's dick. His breaths hitch and Dean brushes his thumb on the foreskin and slit before kissing it and taking Cas into his mouth.

Cas grunts, twitching and quivering. Dean palms his waist, his hands clenching. Cas moans. The fingers in Dean's hair tighten when he pulls Cas off the seat a little, yanks him forward, sliding him inside completely. Cas stutters, hands going down to Dean's neck, thrusting as Dean grips his waist to help him. He pulls in and out, Dean's tongue dragging against sensitive skin, moans and gasps everywhere. "Oh, Dean, right there… God…"

Dean's nails scrape underneath Cas's shirt as he sucks harder, spit and precum all fucking around.

"God, Dean…"

Dean hums, sucks again, triumphant as Cas comes with a gasp and, "D-Dean!"

He lets cum flood his mouth before swallowing it. He grimaces at the taste, feeling Cas slide off and his own dick bulge over. Cas is still moaning, grunting gutturally as he relaxes with his pants half-down, and there's something incredibly sexy about his voice and the gasps right now.

Dean sits back on his haunches to catch his own breath and starts to crawl away from the table. He gets to his knees again, pulls Cas forward, and kisses him, all spit and cum again, and grins when he pulls back. "Made it worth your time, didn't I?"

Cas, the bastard, refuses to acknowledge it as he collects himself. "I…" He takes a breath, then starts again. "We should get clean before Sam sees us like this."

"Prude."

He gets to his feet and is starting to put the food away when Cas's hand grips at his wrist. Looking down, Dean watches Cas's lips shift into a grin and bends over to kiss him again. "We'll do it again soon, okay?"

"I would really like that."

"I know. You're still a prude, though."

They're clean by the time Sam walks in, and Dean can see his slumped shoulders from where he's doing dishes in the corner. He wishes he could say something to soothe his brother's nerves, make him believe that everything will turn out fine. It's awful to see Sam like this.

Sam takes a seat at the table and eyes the duffle full of guns that Dean's placed on the couch. "You know," he says, "I kinda didn't expect you to be decent by the time I walked back in."

Dean's raising an eyebrow as he turns at his brother. "You sneaky son of a bitch!"

"Hey, not like that!" Sam blushes. "You're just not concerned about being private, Dean!"

"It's a natural process, and—"

"Shut up. You do it to embarrass me."

Dean shrugs. "That too."

"Just warn me, okay? I don't want any more scarring."

"No-can-do, Sammy. You know, Cas and I," Dean says, winking at his husband, "we're the definition of spontaneity."

"No, you're horny and you keep wheedling him."

"Same thing."

Sam's bitch face is so extreme that even the breaths he's letting out are kind of bitchy. "Slut," he mutters.

"Hey! Cas gets horny too!"

"I do not, Dean. My body composition technically does not allow me to feel sexual arousal unless someone externally stimulates me."

Dean whips his face at his husband. "No one asked you!"

Cas crosses his arms. "I believe I was the subject of discussion and I wanted to give you my input."

"Yeah?" Dean asks. "So you don't get horny, is that why you _undulated_ everywhere when I gave you that little quickie blow job?"

"Undulated?"

"I learned it from Sammy."

"Okay." Sam gets up from his chair and he's so red, Dean thinks he can substitute for a traffic light somewhere. "I'm leaving," he says. "If you guys can finish discussing all your quickies and let me know when you're ready to start training, I'll be out to join you."

Dean runs the dishtowel over the plates and puts them in the cabinets. "We're practising," he calls out to Sam. "I'm done with the dishes. Are you ready?"

Sam stops on his path to the bedroom and takes a deep breath. "Yeah, Dean. I'm ready."

**~o~**

Dean touches the stem of a small tree that sits with its branches twirling around the guardrail, and turns to Sam. "This is gonna be your punching bag."

"Really?" Sam swallows, eyeing the tree. Sometimes he feels like he's ready for this, and sometimes he doesn't, and God, that's an unmoving, vulnerable little tree and he shouldn't be so fucking nervous about this. _Shit_.

"Yeah, really." Dean stands on guard, facing the plant. "The branches don't break that easy. You just gotta hit it like you would a punching bag. You know your moves? Remember the names?"

"A little."

"I'll tell you." Dean nods at Sam, and begins punching at the tree. "Straight punch. Side punch. Hook. Uppercut." He demonstrates each one and Sam watches the perfect coordination and angles and is in awe of his brother by the end of it. He knows that he must have been just as good at some point but right now, he aims to get back to what he was, and he fucking _will_. He just needs to learn combinations and brush them up.

He's seen Dean fight—of course he has, but this, what his brother is doing now, is _perfect_. He's never actually just observed Dean before and if he has he can't remember, but Dean is meticulous and knowledgeable. He knows exactly what stance creates maximum impact and what part of the fist makes the most painful hits. Sam absorbs every single thing that his brother teaches him.

When he's done demonstrating, Dean stands back. "Go on," he says. "Let's see what you've got."

"Okay." Sam comes forward, clenching his fists. He wants to prove to his brother that he still has it in him. So, so badly. He stands on guard, grunting as he starts to punch, ten of each type, skin coming in contact with rough bark over and over. By the time he's done his knuckles are throbbing, and the skin over them burns something awful, but doesn't care, because Dean didn't say he was wrong, and if he didn't, that means Sam did it all right. He's satisfied.

"That was good," Dean says at long last. "Now I'll show you the kicks and we'll practice all these today. Then we can move up in a couple of days."

"All right." Sam rubs his palms together, standing back for Dean again.

Dean comes forward and starts demonstrating the kicks. He's fast, well balanced, and he knows about all the best spots to kick at. He uses the bow of his legs to his advantage, displaying triangular chokeholds with utmost ease on Cas (though Cas isn't too happy about that).

Sam starts with the kicks, trying to manipulate them to suit the length of his legs and hence the actual force that he can use as he judges the bark. He tries them as Dean told him to, carefully, remembering everything his brother did and trying to get better with each turn.

"Use your muscle strength," Dean tells him as Sam aims a roundhouse, shaking the leaves off the branch. "Harder. Come on!"

"Is… that…" Sam pants, aiming a better kick, "what Cas… says to… you in… bed?"

Dean comes forward, boot colliding with Sam's knee. Sam's foot gets tangled in the branch and he falls down, landing on his ass. "OW!"

Dean has his arms crossed. "Shut up, bitch."

Sam grins up at him. "Hit a nerve?"

"No."

He dusts off the grime coating his clothes. Above him, Dean is smirking. Sam scowls at him. "What was that for, asshole?"

"For being a smartass."

Sam snorts. "It was a genuine question, man."

"Yeah?" Dean raises an eyebrow. "You really wanna know what I say to Cas while we fuck?"

"… Uh…"

"That's what I thought. Now on your feet, Sasquatch."

Sam puffs out an annoyed breath as he obeys Dean, trying think of ways to get back at him. He absolutely can't let Dean win this time… not so easily.

"Okay, so if you're done with that prissy revenge plan of yours, can we move on, my prince?"

Sam pouts, scrunching his nose. "Not fair, dude."

"What, the fact that I fucking know you, and everything that goes on in that jumbo-sized brain of yours? Now get kicking, time's a-wastin'."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam stands on guard, and Dean eyes his position for a moment.

"We start with fifty of each," he says when he's approved of Sam's stance. He throws an arm around Cas's waist. "You finish those, and I'll have a quickie—"

"Dean, you should stand watch over your brother," Cas says to him, voice and eyes earnest.

Sam laughs as he watches the two of them locked in that awkward side-embrace. "Like I said," he says, aiming a punch at the poor, abused branch, "you're the horny one, Dean."

"Yeah, you keep at it," Dean replies, letting go of Cas a little dejectedly and going back and finding a large-enough rock to sit on.

Sam laughs again, aiming another punch. "You can go back, do your thing. I know that's what you want to do."

Dean picks up a twig, Cas joining him on the rock as he begins to drag it in the dirt, making a light, scraping noise. "What I want, Sammy," he replies at long last, "is to give you some company here while you practice. That cool? Or you still want us to go have a quickie, 'cause I can totally do that."

Sam continues to punch at the tree. "Thanks," he mutters at long last.

He concentrates on his task after that, trying to remember how Dean did it. He's got one leg in front of the other and wide apart, bent a little at the knees, exactly like Dean had shown him. He clenches his fist, tightens it, and throws another punch at the branch.

"Good. One… two…"

Sam punches to his brother's count, concentrating on each, knuckles painful, but he goes on.

"Ten. Eleven…"

He needs to do this. He has to be perfect. He has to fight. He won't allow any of those assholes to have an advantage over him ever again. He'll never let them kill anyone else. He has a tiny, absolutely _tiny_ family, and there's no fucking he's letting them die.

"Good one, Sammy! Thirty-three…"

Sam bites his lip and punches harder. He wants to break this branch off. He knows it's difficult because it's supple, but he will… he will…

"Forty-two…"

More. More. More.

 _"Very good, Sam. Very good!"_ The voice is different, and Sam flinches. _What_?

 _"You know, Sam, I quite like your perseverance. You're a stubborn bastard, aren't you?"_ He knows this voice… knows it, and it's not Dean.

He looks around. No, no, no. This can't be. He's with Dean… with Dean.

 _"Oh, but you're with me!"_ Yellow eyes flash at Sam from the corner of the room. He's lying supine on a familiar table, leather straps holding him down as he watches those menacing eyes.

 _"So, you know, Sam, if you want to be strong, you have to let me do this."_ Azazel is hovering over him with a metal syringe, the barrel filled with the demon blood that he drew from a vial a minute ago. _"It's for your own good."_

"No," Sam whispers, clenching against the restraints on him. "No, I won't, I won't—" He cries out when the needle hits his arm, plunging into his biceps and draining the burning substance into him. He's struggling, twitching, choking, but hands are on him setting him free and a bald angel is grinning at him like he's entertainment.

 _"I'm Zachariah,"_ he says, _"and I'm going to make you fight."_

"N-No…" Sam is freed from the table and pushed forward. His vision blurs, head spins, and he watches a young slave being unshackled before him.

 _"Fight him,"_ says Zachariah. _"Fight, you filthy maggot!"_

"Sam?! Sammy, come on, one more."

Sam aims a punch at the tree. Azazel grins before him. _"That's my boy."_

"D-Dean…"

_"Go on, Sam, big brother isn't coming for you!"_

"D-Dean…"

"What? What?!" The voice is closer, hands shaking him. Sam's head is spinning.

"H-Head…"

_"That's the effect of the little something extra we gave you."_

"Sammy, fight it, man. Just a few more."

_"Fight, you maggot!"_

"Sammy…"

_"Sam, you're a hero, aren't you? Always trying to do the right thing?"_

"Sammy, here, stay with me!"

_"You are a freak of nature. You don't have a family. Know what Dean will say if he finds out? He'll dump you at my doorstep because he won't want you. Because you're a monster. Just like me."_

"N-No…"

"Sam, Sammy, come on, lie down, lie down."

He hits hard ground, and Azazel smiles. Someone turns him on his side.

 _"Dean is not coming, Sam,"_ says Azazel. _"Dean is never coming."_

"Deeeaaann…"

"Here, here."

"D-Don'… pl-pl's…"

"Not going anywhere, Sam, breathe now. Breathe. Please, man."

_"Dean hates you."_

"D'n…"

"Yeah."

_"Dean doesn't want to be your brother."_

"N-No!"

"That's right, you tell him. You tell him, Sammy."

"D'n… D'n, pleaaase…"

The faces are blurring together, Zachariah and Azazel and Dean and there is more laughter in his ears. _Think you got out of here, Sam?_ Nick asks him. _Because you never did. We still have you. You're our lab rat for a new experiment… a new kind of taming exercise. And you just loved that part of the day, didn't you?_

He laughs again, and Sam coughs, tries to sit up, but he can't, he can't, and it's all going black and he's dying, and…

"D'n… D'n…"

"I'm here," a voice whispers, and that's the last thing Sam hears. _I'm here._

The blackness consumes him before he can think further.

**~o~**

Dean is sitting on the sofa, Sam's plate on his lap and his brother on the other side, leaning against the cushions. Sam's been still for a long time now, with eyes half-mast and breaths erratic. It's been three hours since the disastrous training, since Sam freaked out and never really came back. Dean and Cas had carried Sam into the cabin and laid him on the bed, but even when Dean woke him up for lunch, Sam was unresponsive.

"You gotta eat," he says gently, shifting a little closer to Sam. "Sammy."

Sam raises a shaking hand, fingers trembling too much, and Dean tears off a piece of chicken for him. "Here."

He guides Sam's hand to get into his mouth, and looks beseechingly at Cas, even though he knows there's nothing Cas can do about this, either.

"Sam," Dean says as gently as he can muster, "Sammy, look at me."

His brother's breath hitches, and Dean grabs him closer with his free arm, heart sinking to his chest when Sam looks up, eyes glassy and lost. Dean sighs, turns to Cas. "Give us a minute?"

"I'll be outside."

"Okay, I'll call you back in."

Cas gets to his feet. He comes close, bends forward, and kisses Dean's forehead, the warmth of him making Dean shudder. "It's going to be all right, Dean," he says softly. "It's going to be fine."

Dean nods, throat too clogged up to respond, and watches him leave the cabin. There is silence, terrible and daunting, and he's feeling all kinds of horrible because maybe he should have started easier… just ten each today, not let Sam strain when it's been so hard for him to shake off the consequences of whatever he went through in Hell. Maybe Dean should have helped him some more. Maybe Dean should have understood… realised what his brother needed. He takes off his amulet and puts it in Sam's palm, hoping for some reply.

"Sammy."

Sam's breath hitches as he touches the necklace. "'S jus'… th-the brand," he slurs in a whispered voice, head lolling against Dean's shoulder. "G'nna b-be fine."

Dean blinks, takes a deep breath. "Yeah, Sam. You will—"

"Z'zel, he caan'… no' my dad and br'thr."

"What?"

"Dean," Sam says, clearly, clearer than he's been in hours, and Dean leans closer to listen.

"Tell me."

"Th-They burned… br'nd…"

"Yeah, I know, man," Dean replies bitterly. "That bastard put a brand in you. But it's better now. You're gonna be okay." The wound is healed, but Azazel's name remains on Sam's back, bringing Dean's anger to homicidal levels whenever he sees it.

"'S… hurtin'."

Dean's eyes widen at Sam's frankness. First, because Sam never admits to pain and second, _after all this time_? He loosens his grip around his brother and pulls him closer. "You eat and I'll have a look at it. Just get something into your stomach, okay?"

"Don' feel g'd."

"I know."

"D'n…"

"Yeah, it's me. It's me, dude. You've asked me a million times today but I ain't gonna be mad. It's me, in the flesh." Dean rests his chin on Sam's hair, hoping to calm him down before getting him to eat.

"I w'nna… w'nna practice…"

"What?"

Sam seems to loosen up, head lolling, and Dean shakes him. "Hey."

"W'nna tr'n… _fight_." The last word is a determined, lucid whisper. When Dean turns to look at Sam to see if he's serious, Sam's already fast asleep on his shoulder, having slipped into his own world again with the amulet clutched tight in his hand.

**~o~**

Sam wakes up to a haze and a headache. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, body stiff and heart starting to race. He can't see Dean around, and he can't remember anything after the time he started punching at that tree. What on earth happened? Why does he feel like someone ran him over with a truck?

"Mornin', sunshine."

Sam starts at Dean's voice and runs a hand over his eyes. "Dean?" His own voice is hoarse, throat sore. He watches his brother emerge from the corner of his vision in boxers and a tee, coffee mug in hand and the dark circles under his eyes telling a story of their own.

Sam swallows down the goo in his throat from the sleeping. "How long was I out?"

"More than a day." Dean takes the chair that Sam notices is right beside his bed, and wipes a hand down his face. "Want something for that throat of yours?"

"How do you—?" Sam shuts up before he can complete his own question.

Dean just grins. "Dude, if I just knew you wanted to be a banshee so bad…"

"Screw you."

"Yeah, that's what I wanna say to Cas too. _Literally_. I didn't have time for it last night, because I was taking care of your screamin' ass."

Sam turns away from his brother, guilty all of a sudden for having snatched away his time with Cas. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean mutters, and Sam knows he was kidding when he said that earlier but continues to feel guilty all the same. Dean stands up again, the chair scraping back as he stretches. "I made pancakes. Want some?"

"Cool."

"Good, can you walk?"

"Uh…" Sam pulls his blanket off, tentatively placing bare feet on the wooden floor as he attempts to stand up. His legs are shaky and he feels weak but he's able to do it, so he smiles at Dean and gives him a thumbs-up.

"Good," says Dean. "Now brush your teeth, because it stinks like something died in there. I'll get your pancakes ready."

Sam heads to the bathroom, pushing his hair out of his eyes, watching Dean pull out a plate and the butter dish. However, he stops at the doorway and turns to his brother, clenching his jaw. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I was serious yesterday. I want to go back to training after breakfast." He doesn't wait for Dean to reply as he shuts the door behind him.

**~o~**

Sam doesn't let Dean's pity or his own bodily suffering deter him from training. He's decided he wants to defeat Azazel, and Cas says he can do it—that the demon blood in him gives him extra power, so why not? And, if he keeps postponing it because of how he feels sometimes during and after, he'll never be ready. He'll never be able to do it.

Dean doesn't like it. Dean doesn't like it at all, but he tries to hide it. He tries to push as much as Sam wants to be pushed; help as much as he can. Sam remembers waking up from hazes and excruciating headaches with a hand on his shoulder and a gentle voice: "Sammy, snap out of it, man."

He recognises the feel of Dean's amulet in his fingers, grounding him when the nightmares hit. Of Dean helping him hunch over when he can't catch his breath. Of Dean marathoning _Star Wars_ and Chuck Norris movies on the nights that Sam can't sleep, the two of them ultimately waking up with stiff backs from snoozing on the sofa with their feet on the table.

Castiel will wake them both up, cook them breakfast and help them train, teach Sam how to fight with knives and daggers since that is what he knows best. When Dean can't open his eyes from exhaustion, Cas is the one who brings Sam back from his nightmares. He's the one who covers them in blankets when they fall asleep during one of their movie marathons and he's the one who's _literally_ their guardian angel.

Sometimes, Sam will wake up from a nap to find Dean and Cas missing, only to discover them sitting at the guardrail after a few minutes of panic. He watches their silhouettes in the beautiful sunsets, calming down as he watches them hold hands, talking. They have no idea Sam's seen them, Dean would probably be embarrassed if he knew, but Sam is extremely happy they found each other. He watches a little bit of beauty each and every day; something magnificent growing in the ugliness of his life. And he lets himself smile as his heart jumps in happiness.

**~o~**

Dean hears someone enter the bathroom while he's in the shower. The warm water feels really good to his aching muscles and _God_ , he so tired. He's been up two nights in a row because Sam's nightmares have just gotten worse, and it's a task getting him to believe, sometimes, that he's not actually still in Hell. When Sam's lucid he's constantly asking Dean to go back to sleep, but Dean just can't find it in him to want to sleep.

He has barely seen Cas in the last few days; barely kissed him, touched him, or spoken to him; and Cas has stayed in the background all this while. Dean misses him; misses him so, so much. God.

The door shuts, and he grips the yellowing shower curtain, blinks water out of his eyes. "Cas, is that you?"

There is no reply. Instead, the curtains are ripped apart and Cas steps into the bathtub, naked. Before Dean can question him he puts a tube of lube on the soap dish and grips Dean's waist from behind, planting kisses on his back and shoulders. The water is warm and Cas slurps and sucks, a sexy, unbearable white noise and _oh God, oh Jesus, oh fucking fuck_. Dean sighs, shudders, leans back in Cas's grip. "God, I missed you. _Fuck_."

Cas grunts, fingers circling on Dean's upper thighs and tracing his groin to the inside. Dean's cock jumps, his entire body shuddering when Cas goes on to grip him. Cas kisses his neck, thumb brushing his slit and rubbing. Dean bucks forward, starting to grow hard as Cas strokes the shaft, the groove below, fingers moving rhythmically and slowly, teasing and _this fucking bastard, this motherfuck—_

Dean moans. " _Cas_."

Cas hums, bulging against Dean's ass, the sensation unbearable. He pumps Dean's cock once and Dean hardens with a low buzz in his ears. The precum makes its appearance, slicking over pre-present wetness and that's all Dean can take.

He turns around, shoves Cas against the wall, feeling his knuckles hit tile. Dean kisses him, biting, sucking at his lips, tongue dashing and licking Cas's because he's so hot, so fucking _hot_ and _ohfuckgod this is too much_. He reaches for the lube, dabs some on and grabs Cas's ass to haul him up, sliding him against wet tiles. Cas's legs circle Dean's waist, mouth on Dean's neck, shoulder, nipping and bruising and kissing as Dean enters him.

Cas moans. Dean thrusts, shoves them harder against the wall, thrusts again. Cas is breathing heavily against his neck, sending tingles up his spine as he pushes again. "Dean."

"Yeah, Cas."

"Dean… yes, oh…"

Dean pushes, Cas comes, jizzing everywhere, warm cum joining water. Dean shuts his eyes, feels Cas kiss him again and pushes, once, twice, until he's spurting inside Cas. Blood rushes up his head, making his ears pound and he's warm and cold, goosebumps everywhere, gasping in sync with Cas. He gets off Cas, rests his head against the wall a moment before letting him down.

Dean's knees are buckling with the stress and lack of sleep and he blindly reaches to sit down but there are arms around his waist again when Cas pulls him into an embrace. He sighs, places his forehead on his husband's neck and tries to forget about Sam's nightmares and panic attacks. When he can't forget, however, he steels himself, gets out of the shower, and takes up on Sam's offer to train extra today.

**~o~**

Sam starts to get better during the third week of their training. Dean's staying up less and so is Sam because they're both actually sleeping at night, instead of dealing with Sam's bouts of insomnia. They still make it a point to marathon some old movies, though, because, and Dean will never say this to his brother, the time spent with Sam makes him feel safe. Comfortable. Like old times, when things were less shitty at the bunker.

Sam spars with Dean every day, mastering each move with relative ease and starting to work his cunning and intelligence into the fight again.

"Good boy," Dean encourages, blocking a punch, shuffling back as Sam continues to aim them at him. They're sparring again today and Sam's doing really well. Dean wouldn't even be able to block himself, if he didn't intuitively know what moves his brother used and he's proud of how far Sam's come.

Sam grins at him, kicks, and Dean raises his knee to receive it on the shin. He turns, blocks an uppercut, and fails to do the same with a hook that lands on his cheek.

"Fuck," he whispers, tonguing the inside of it, checking for a cut, as Sam moves forward to pull Dean ahead. "You're getting good."

"I was always good, jerk," Sam mutters in a rare show of self-confidence, bending Dean forward in a headlock.

Dean goes to grab Sam's face, fails, and elbows Sam's belly, gripping his brother's arms to free himself. He watches Cas emerge from the cabin and stiffens a little, knowing what is coming, although Sam is clueless enough to use his temporary lack of response to his advantage, locking a leg around Dean, straightening him up to make it a chokehold.

"S-Sam!" Dean gasps, straining. Cas is coming closer and he knows Sam will loosen up any moment now but Dean is afraid. He's very afraid. It doesn't help that he feels like he's a fucking traitor. They do need to get ahead with their training, though, and there's one thing Dean is aware of, that affects Sam more than anything else.

The mirror.

He's not spoken to Sam about training him using that. Sure, Sam had told Dean when he'd asked to be trained, that he wants to overcome the mirror thing but Dean hasn't really told him they'll actually be doing it because he isn't sure if anticipation reduces the effect on his brother. He wants to train Sam to be able to fully combat whatever it is that the mirror does to him. And the training has to start today. They don't have all the time in the world before Azazel somehow finds them, but Sam needs to get out of whatever it is that clams him up when the mirror is used.

Feeling guilty and terrible, Dean had already told Cas that morning about how they're going to start training Sam with the mirror, too, and with a heavy heart, Cas agreed. And when Dean looks at him standing outside the cabin, eyes sympathetic, he _knows_.

He head-butts Sam, turns around, and, heart racing, nods at Cas. Cas nods back, and reaches for his pocket.

It all happens in a split second. For a moment, Sam's coming at Dean with a kick, and then a silvery shimmer flashes on his face, near his nose. He freezes, eyes rolling up as he falls down, hitting the ground with a thud.


	12. But They Fell Apart

_"You tried to beat up Zachariah today, Sam, and you should know that you'll be punished for that."_

_"You didn't kill that slave. Why didn't you kill him? Do you know who you are? Do you know what an honour it should be that an abomination like you is allowed to touch a human being, even if it is to kill him?"_

_"You and me, we're alike, Sam, very alike."_

_"Today is going to be so much fun."_

Sam's on a table; an old, rusted thing in Nick's office. The office isn't what it looks like from the outside. It has a couple of windows carved into the rock, letting in sunlight from outside, and another door leading to a small stone veranda. The room is large, lined with dirty cabinets, Nick's desk, and a washbasin on one side.

"Whatever you do, Sam, you face the consequences."

Sam is naked, feet on stirrups, hands bound to a couple of bars on the side of the table. He is sweating, eyes darting about, and he watches as Nick shows him a scalpel. Deftly he draws it across Sam's belly. Blood flows down, wet and thick, Sam's mouth open in a scream that threatens to take away his voice.

"You enjoy this, don't you? Our time alone?"

"Please, please! No!"

"Yes, Sam, yes!"

Sam screams more, the blade drags on. He's open, panting, coughing, tears falling out of his eyes, running down his temples and he wants to die… just _die_.

He thankfully passes out the fourth time that Nick cuts him.

**0**

Sam is back, healed and prone on the same rusty table. The room is warm today, sticky. The fireplace crackles with flames licking wood and Sam feels a drop of sweat roll down his temple. Nick is grinning at him, holding something over the fire. It glows, sends Sam's heart racing. He thinks he knows what this is.

"No! No! No, please!"

"You didn't request all of that when you mouthed us off, did you?" Nick is holding the rod over the brand, eyes glowing mad and orange in the fire. "Azazel is ready to keep your ungrateful ass here despite all that, and I think you should be thankful." He picks up the brand, Azazel's name glowing in the darkness.

"Come on," he says, "your scar's almost gone and we need to see it. We need you to remember."

And Sam remembers. Dean. Cas. The cabin. The wedding. _Dean_.

Nick's eyes are sparkling as he brings the brand closer. "What, you didn't think you were dreaming, did you, Sam? That these moments, these wonderful moments between you and I were just _memories_?"

He pulls out a mirror from his pocket, and it reflects the orange light in Sam's eyes. Sam freezes, a reflex; because he knows what's coming and he can't move… isn't allowed to move, or…

Burning metal touches him, excruciating, melting his skin off, peeling him away in layers and he's screaming. He's screaming and screaming, head throbbing, eyes watering. The stink of burning flesh permeates the air, bringing acid and bile up his throat, pushing it out as he retches and retches and he wants to escape, run away, but Nick shines the mirror again and if he moves… if he moves…

He can't move…

He wants to run.

Where's Dean? Why was this all a dream? Why couldn't it have been real?

A voice whispers in his ear as he teeters on the edge of consciousness. "It's not real, Sam," Nick says, "because you're a bad person and this is what you deserve. You are a monster, an abomination, and you're never getting anything good in your life while we're around. Remember that."

And Sam remembers it, keeps it in his mind as he drifts off, tears leaking out of his eyes and this time, not just from the physical pain.

**~o~**

"Cas, what have I done? Why the fuck did I do this?"

Dean is frantic, sponging Sam's forehead as his brother moans on the bed. He's staring into space, eyes glassy and his mouth open as he gasps, moans, and mutters. It's been a whole day since Dean shone the mirror at Sam. Sam never woke up. Dean looks down at the amulet clenched in Sam's fist and puts his hand over it, squeezing. "Sam. Sammy."

Sam's mouth opens, a single tear trickling out of the corner of his eye. Dean places the sponge there, wiping, hoping the coolness of it will help soothe his brother. That Sam can feel him, hear him… something.

Sam doesn't respond. He gasps again, eyes rolling up and lids shutting partly to reveal the whites of his eyes.

"This wasn't so bad the last time," Dean whispers. "He was talking and walking, Cas. What do I do?"

"I believe the constant stress from the past few weeks aggravated his reaction this time," Cas replies. "I'm not sure, Dean. I don't know what to do, either." He sounds highly regretful as he says that and if Dean weren't so goddamned worried about Sam right now—worried enough to not want to look away from his brother at all, he would have held Cas's hand.

Sam grunts before him, more sweat blossoming on his forehead and Dean swallows a lump in his throat as he presses the sponge over the skin there. "It's okay, Sammy," he whispers, saying the only thing he knows to say. "It's gonna be okay."

**~o~**

"You know, this one is my favourite," Nick murmurs as he strokes the whip, fingers running along the barbs and leather crackling as he straightens it. He looks up at Sam and smiles. "You comfortable there?"

Sam struggles against the bonds tying his wrists to the ceiling. "Sc-screw you." He flexes his muscles, pulling himself upwards, but Nick's holding something to his face, and then there's a flash of silver light…

"Good boy," Nick whispers as Sam stiffens. There's a whoosh and a crackle of leather. Sam doesn't even scream when he feels his skin peeling off. He can't move… he can't move, or…

_"You moved. You moved when I told you not to, Sam. This is your punishment."_

_The meat hooks dig into Sam's flesh, blood streaming down from his shoulder blade, and all he can hear is laughter._

**_Don't move, Sam, or you will be punished. And you know what the punishment is, don't you?_ **

**~o~**

When Sam finally opens his eyes fully, he screams. The washcloth falls off his forehead and Dean is by his side in a second as Cas comes running from the bedroom.

"Hey," Dean soothes his brother. "HEY!"

Sam just continues to scream, fist opening and closing over the amulet, and Dean puts his own hand over it, squeezing his brother's wrist. "Sam, snap out of it!" he says, voice shakier than he wants. "Dammit, come out of it."

Sam's whispering something, lips moving in a litany of something Dean cannot decipher, and he leans closer to listen.

_"Not real. Not real. Not real not real not real…"_

"No." Dean squeezes his fist again. "No, hey, look here, look at me."

Sam's head snaps up, eyes unfocussed, and Dean takes the opportunity to raise Sam's fist to eye-level. He points at the leather string and the amulet hanging from it. "Feel that?"

Sam doesn't respond, and Dean shakes him. "Answer me, Sammy. Do you feel that?"

His brother's eyes widen, fear shining through them, and he nods frantically. Dean holds his wrist, shakes Sam's fist. "That's the amulet you gave me. At the bunker. Remember? You remember that?"

Sam shakes his head. Dean squeezes his wrist. "You do. Search for the memory. You remember it very well. Think about it."

Sam blinks, takes a couple of minutes, then slowly nods.

"Good," Dean tells him. "Because when they took you to Hell, this necklace was with me. The only person who's always had it is me and the fact that you're holding it, it means you're _with me_ and you're out. You get that?"

Sam nods again.

"I told you this was your stone number one, remember? If you don't, I want you to recollect that. We got you out of Hell, Sammy, we got you out."

Sam swallows, eyes dampening, and then sniffs, speaking at long last. "Okay." His voice is hoarse, a lot like the first time he'd spoken when they got him out.

Dean smiles back at him. "Okay. Now get some rest."

He helps Sam lie back down, Sam's hand tightening around the amulet as he drifts off. Dean sits beside him the whole time that he sleeps after that and watches over his brother.

**~o~**

The moment Sam wakes up from his tired slumber, he feels embarrassment extend its ugly tendrils into his system. He remembers Dean trying to soothe him, calm him down, and can't recollect what led to that.

"Mirror," Dean mutters guiltily at breakfast. "Sorry, man. I—"

"We'll do it again," Sam interrupts him. "Today."

Dean's fork drops onto his plate. "Sam…"

"Today." Sam clenches his jaw. "I want to get over it. They've used it as my weakness for too long, Dean."

Dean blinks several times, turning back to his plate. "Okay, kiddo."

"Don't call me that."

"Fine. Bitch."

**~o~**

Sam blanks out again at training that day, and then again the next time, and so on for the next ten days. Each time that he wakes up, Dean is frantic, trying to ground him, although he notes that every time, Sam is quicker to get out of the nightmares and hallucinations. The hand-to-hand is at a standstill due to Sam being incapacitated for entire days, but then he reckons he should have anticipated Dean losing his cool at some point too.

"That's it!" he says on the eleventh day when Sam's woken up with a terrible headache. "Sammy, you're with _us_ , okay? And I'm never letting you go back to that fucking dreamland again. Starting tomorrow we're doing the hand-to-hand."

Sam tries to nod but his neck is stiff and Dean sounds furious when he helps Sam sit up. "I'm gonna rip their lungs out!" he growls. "They had no right… no fucking right…"

"I'm sorry," Sam whispers, the response involuntary, and his brother's eyes are immediately on him.

"It's not your fault, Sam."

"I'm… 'M… Nick…" Sam licks his chapped lips and Cas gets up from a nearby chair to get him water. "We c'dn't move… meat hooks…" The thought is overwhelming; the whole nightmare he'd just had coming back to him, except it's not just a nightmare, it's a memory. He smiles, feeling tears sting his eyes.

"Sammy." Dean's voice is shaky, and worn flannel swipes over Sam's cheeks, taking away the wetness with it. A hand cups his neck.

"T's fear tr'ning," Sam whispers. Dean holds a glass of water to his lips and he drinks greedily, until Dean pulls it away after a couple of seconds.

"Not so quickly, dude. You of all geeks should know too much water wouldn't sit well with your stomach." The hand on Sam's neck squeezes comfortingly, and he raises a hand to fist the hem of Dean's shirt.

"I never said," he replies, "Th'nks, Dean. F'r getting me out."

Dean pulls him forward, lets Sam rest the side of his head against his chest, Dean's chin on Sam's hair, and doesn't say a thing for a long, long time.

**~o~**

"You gotta hold your hands like this, finger over the trigger, watch."

Castiel is with Dean, eyeing the beer cans on the guard rails. They woke up this morning and decided Sam should rest a day while they brushed up Cas's shooting skills (which, honestly, according to Castiel, are next to nil, although Dean is a kind enough soul to lie, saying that is not the case). So here they are in a makeshift range, training for an enemy they all know they have to face but have no idea how to.

Dean's breaths ghost over Cas's ears, tickling and tingling, bringing goosebumps everywhere and he leans his head back slightly to match cheeks with Dean, feeling Dean's eyelashes tickle his skin. They're so, so close, Castiel is tantalised. Dean is such a strong presence at all times, so energetic, so marvellous, crackling and sparking, solid and ever-present…

Dean's one arm aligns both of Castiel's, hand over his on the gun. The other hand currently rests on Cas's waist, and he takes a sharp breath as it goes up underneath his t-shirt to trace a teasing circle over Castiel's abdomen.

"Shoot," Dean whispers.

Castiel pulls the trigger, the shot ringing in his ears as he stumbles back from the recoil, although he's still clutched in Dean's arms. Dean moves to the next one and they shoot all six of the cans together, in a row, gun smoking, leather and gunpowder permeating the air with their smell. Castiel feels the button of his jeans pop as a hand creeps into his waistband.

He sighs and leans backward. Dean chuckles, stroking Cas, thumb dragging over his slit, to the head and the shaft. His fingers join in and Cas is hard and wet before he knows it. He comes in the next moment into Dean's hand, his boxers; and his body bucks as he leans back, head on Dean's shoulder. "Oh, Dean."

Sweat falls down Castiel's face and pools into the dip in his neck. Dean mouths the shell of his ear, teeth nipping at the lobe, getting Cas to sigh and shiver. Dean removes his hand from Cas's boxers, stepping ahead to face him as he licks the semen off his fingers, lips lingering on each one, tongue poking out to tease Cas. He smirks, leans over and kisses Castiel, tasting of semen and beer. "You wanna come inside and practice after a break?" Dean asks him, voice breathy and incredibly, tantalisingly sensual.

Castiel can still hear the ringing in his ears when he nods a yes.

Dean takes his hand and they head inside, frantic, hearts racing. Sam looks up at them from his crossword, eyes widening when he notices their expressions.

"I'm outta here."

Castiel barely notes the sound of Sam's receding footsteps as Dean takes him to their bedroom, pushing him onto their bed, straddling him, and pulling him into a kiss. Dean bites and sucks and Cas moans, heat and spit getting everywhere as they kiss. Cas pants and hisses, feeling Dean's mouth on his jaw and neck, teeth nipping his ear again, and he clenches the bedcovers as Dean pulls at the collar of his t-shirt and sucks Cas's shoulder, fast and wet.

Cas can feel his body clench in anticipation, thighs quivering, and Dean reaches down to pull down his jeans and boxers in one go. He sits back, gets his own clothing off and pushes at Castiel's shoulder to flip him over.

Castiel obeys, gets on all fours, and feels the dampness of the lubricant in him, along with Dean's fingers. The condom packet tears open and in the next moment Dean is inside him, filling him and hot and moist with his hands clutching Castiel's waist as he thrusts.

Cas grunts, Dean thrusts again, and Cas's jaw drops, breaths stuttering as his nerve endings fire up in pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Cas…" Dean whispers, thrusting. The ecstasy peaks, reaching its apex as Castiel feels an explosion of it; sweet, sweet pleasure as he spurts, moaning and grunting and panting. Dean's fingernails dig into his skin as he pulls Castiel back again, bucking forward until he's climaxing, too. "C-Cas," he mutters as he comes. His breath hitches and Castiel knows now that their hearts are in sync in the same way that their lives are.

Dean slides off and Cas falls on the bed and they're in each other's arms the next moment, half-naked and gasping and panting, but happy as they look into each other's eyes, trying to decipher all the wonder there. Dean leans over to rest his head on his hand as he props up an elbow and though there are no words, they talk for a long, long time.

**~o~**

When Dean and Cas get clean and dressed a while later, going upstairs to get Sam for more training and then lunch, Castiel feels a shiver run down his spine. There's something wrong, he thinks, but it could also be the weather. "Wait," he calls out to his husband, halting at the coat rack to grab his trenchcoat. "It feels a little chilly today."

Dean shrugs. "I guess. C'mon. We need to practice. I'm already getting hungry."

Castiel shoves his arms into the sleeves, Dean waiting for him, when they hear a sound outside of the trapdoor.

"What the fuck?!" Dean rushes up the stairs without a backward glance and Castiel follows. When they get up and out of the trapdoor, Castiel's heart skips a beat at what he sees.

Standing before them and restraining a struggling, angry Sam, is Azazel himself.

"Well, well, boys," the demon mutters, eyes flashing yellow. "Looks like we're all going to have a lot of fun."

**~o~**

Dean is swearing inside his head. He wants to do it out loud, yell at Azazel and fucking kill him but no, _no_ , they're not prepared for this. They need time and Sam's not ready and this can't honestly be happening.

Azazel is flanked by two demons, and Dean almost wants to sneer at him about whether the bastard thinks that is enough take them down. One of the demons is male and the other is female. Azazel grins a big, wicked sneer. "Abaddon. Crowley. _Get them_."

Abaddon's painted lips widen in an ecstasy that Dean has only seen in Cas while he's orgasming and she makes her way toward them, Dean reaching for his knife, and—

She kicks his shin. He stumbles, punches in return and shuffles another kick from her. He starts to back up, her boot connecting with his knee as he blocks. The collision sends explosive pain through him and the world shakes but Dean balances, growls, and goes ahead to punch her.

They grapple, Abaddon's knee hitting Dean's stomach once, twice; and he plants an elbow to her face to push her away. He hurries forward, busted leg and all, and punches her face again and again, driving her to the edge of the cliff. She sways and kicks him again, missing, and he shoves at her chest heavily, sending her staggering to the edge of the cliff, and down.

Her scream echoes in his ears as she falls, a weird sense of satisfaction racing through him. He turns around, watching Sam lose against Azazel and rushes to help him.

"Oh no you don't, you little bastard," drawls a British-accented voice and Dean sees a flash of silver, right at Sam's face.

"NO!"

The words are just out of his mouth as Sam freezes, sinking to the ground. Dean charges towards Azazel. "You are not taking my brother back!" he snarls, landing one punch on Azazel's stomach, and another on his face.

"Watch me," Azazel replies, turning. Dean limps, grabs him in a headlock, but Azazel locks his arms around him, lifting him and throwing him to the ground. His head hits the harsh ground and everything spins, doubling in his vision.

Stone and gravel is everywhere and Dean tries to get up but is stopped by a stamp to his stomach. He tries to grab hold of Azazel's ankle but misses, and the demon stomps at him again. Dean coughs, rolls over, and takes a boot to his spleen. He blinks up at his brother who's still on the floor and tries to get up, but Azazel's foot is on his side again. He's dizzy and Azazel won't stop. He can hear Cas scuffling with Crowley, and he really, really needs to get to Sam.

Dean creeps closer, grunting at a kick, and then some more. He takes off his amulet. Azazel comes down on his knees as Dean creeps some more, holding a hand to his throat and pressing on his windpipe. Dean chokes, tries to move, his hand merely an inch away from Sam's. Azazel clamps down on his wrist and tightens his clench on Dean's throat, choking him further to hold him there.

Blackness is creeping into Dean's vision. He wiggles his finger, brushing it with Sam's. "S-S…" he gags, and manages to brush Sam's finger again. And before Azazel can react, he flings the amulet forward, trying to look if it's in Sam's hand, but it's all too black and he can't breathe… can't… can't…

"Dean-o, if only this were that easy…" Azazel's voice is ringing in his ears. The hand on his throat eases up, and Dean realises…

 _Sammy_.

His eyes open and a burst of air enters his lungs. Azazel is on his feet and Dean gets on his knees, pain still radiating from one.

"N-No…" He can barely talk but his hands are on Azazel's calf. Beside him, Sam suddenly sits up.

"S-Sammy?"

"You bastard!" Azazel lets go of Dean's knee and stamps his already sore stomach. Dean can't catch a breath, blackness returning, and then there's a voice.

"Leave him alone."

"Or?" Azazel sounds amused, leg moving over to Dean's throat to choke him again. Dean grips onto his ankle, trying to get him off.

"What are you going to do, Sam?" Azazel taunts. "Save your brother? You, the weak, vulnerable, traumatised underdog, are going to save this guy?"

"I said leave him alone."

"Oh, Sam—"

"LEAVE. HIM. ALONE."

The ground beneath Dean vibrates. "What the hell?!" Azazel exclaims, and there's something hot and bright as the foot on Dean's throat eases up. Everything is smoky, hazy, and he's so warm, so warm…

"Dean! Dean, listen to me!"

He opens his eyes. Sam. Sam's sitting beside him. Except… except… what's wrong with Sam's eyes?

He wants to talk, wants to open his mouth, but someone kicks him again, and everything is black.

**~o~**

When Sam comes to he is groggy and dizzy, and bound to a chair. These are the first things that his mind takes note of, and then there are the familiar voices that are muttering beside him. He tries to move, but he can't. The bonds are tight, his hands and legs and torso and everything, _everything_ attached to that chair and just short being cut off from blood supply.

"Fuck," he mutters, and his mouth feels dry and terrible.

"Glad you think so, too," says Dean's voice, and Sam finally opens his eyes. They're in their living room, him and Dean and Cas each bound to a chair and in a line, facing the window and the sofa.

"What happened?" Sam asks them.

"You exploded," says Dean simply. "Killed Azazel, dude."

"What?"

"Honest to God. Your fucking eyes were black."

"Really?"

"Really."

"So… so why're we…" _Captured_?

"You conked off," says Dean. "You lost consciousness after the big power blow-up. I passed out, too. Crowley overpowered Cas in all the confusion and knocked him out. Next thing we know…"

"So…" Sam clears his throat. "So they're gonna kill us now?"

"No," replies Cas. Sam tries to strain forward to get a look at him but he can't. His friend sounds morose, dejected.

"Then what?"

"Hell."

" _What_?!"

"I'm sorry," Cas says to him, remorse in his voice. "We heard him talking. Crowley. He is now the King of Hell and he wants us in there, trained as slaves."

"He really said that?"

"Yes, Sam."

Sam blinks, staring out of the window at the blue sky, imagining the river below. What was the mistake they'd made, for it to lead to this? For it to get them back to square one? What part of their plan hadn't they executed well enough?

It's noon and the sunrays sparkle as they fall through the glass, filtering into the sofa and colouring the floor with their light. Sam clenches his wrists, tries to shake himself out but realises he really can't escape. The bonds are too strong.

"We gotta get out," Dean murmurs. "We gotta get out of here."

"I'm trying."

"No, no, Sam, we can't die being slaves to these people. I'm not living my life like that, man, and I'm not letting you guys do it, either. We have to get outta here. Bobby will help us. We need to call him."

"I know, I know…"

"Shit, if they can just free us so I can get a hold—"

"Free us."

"Yeah, I just said that."

"No," Sam whispers, eyeing the window and the sky. "We can be free. We can be free, Dean."

He turns to his brother, whose brows are furrowed in confusion. "What are you saying, man?"

Sam takes a deep breath. "They're not going to let us go. Not long enough for us to drive out. We can't outrun them from here. And once we get to Hell… but, you know, there is a way to be free." He licks his lip. "We don't have to die being slaves, Dean."

**~o~**

"The transport has arrived," Crowley is saying as he descends the staircase to the room. His eyes are narrowed and triumphant, carrying an expression that makes Sam want to reach out and punch the living lights out of the fucktard. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, heart beating fast and he knows what he has to do now—he and Dean and Cas, and he wonders if they're just as nervous. They've all agreed on this. It was Sam's idea but Dean and Cas are with it too. They're ready for it because it's the only way out.

There are three demon minions, one for each person and Sam grits his teeth as the demon starts to undo the ropes. He turns towards Dean, looking for a signal, _any_ signal, and feels warmth spread over him when his brother nods. The bonds are off and the demon gets Sam to his feet—followed by Dean and Cas.

In a split second, Sam's fist is in the demon's face. Dean imitates him and his demon staggers. The next moment, Dean's warm hand grabs Sam's and he turns, to see Dean do the same to Cas. They race across the room and onto the sofa.

Sam doesn't even feel the glass shards that hang on to him when they jump, breaking the window. All he knows is that he has Dean and Cas with him as he falls and when he hits the swirling, unforgiving waters beneath him, he keeps remembering just that. He just knows, with the last breath that he takes, that it's an honour. An honour to have this family and die with them. An honour to know Dean and Cas.

He remembers this, feeling cool water rush up his nose and mouth as he tries to swim, the current too strong, and he keeps remembering. He remembers forever, into eternity and everything beyond.

**~o~**

The water freezes Dean's chest and body and _everything_ and he can't breathe. Two hands are clasped in his, one on either side, and each belongs to two of Dean's most precious possessions. Dean grasps on, but they're sliding, sliding away, water rushing everywhere… and one is gone.

"CAS!"

There are bubbles, water in Dean's throat, and he can't see. He's so cold… so cold…

 _Cas_.

A shaking hand is grasping the back of Dean's collar. Biting, chilly air hits his face and he's floating… moving somewhere.

"Dean, stay with me!"

"C-Cas…"

"We're gonna look for him. Stay with me. Please." Dean opens his eyes, and his brother is peering back at him, wet and teary (and Dean just knows they're tears and not water from the river). Sam's lip quivers. Dean drifts off again.

He dreams of Cas. They're outside the cabin. Cas is reaching towards him, trying to get Dean to catch hold of his hand but he keeps shuffling back and Dean can't move… and then they're in water and a current swallows Cas. "Help," he gurgles, drowning, and Dean can't do anything. "Help!"

When Dean wakes up for the first time in ages, it's not Charlie or Jo or Kevin or his dad looking back at him, trying to wake him up from the nightmare. It's Sam. And isn't this what Dean wanted all along?

_Cas is not dead._

He shivers, shivers terribly, and a hand runs up and down his arm, back, and someone's muttering platitudes in his ear but he can't hear over the roar in his head. He can't hear anything. He needs Cas back. He needs…

There is an awful sobbing coming from somewhere near him. A hand is stroking his hair, another rubbing wetness off his cheek while a voice shushes him. It's not Cas. Then where is he? Where's Cas gone?

_"Help me."_

Dean turns around. The voice is weak but it's Cas. _"Help me,"_ Cas says, and Dean tries to reach him. Dean holds his hand out, tries to move, and their fingers brush, but he can't…

They took Cas away.

"Dean."

Cas isn't coming back.

"He must have landed somewhere downstream," the same voice says. "We'll find him. We'll find him."

No, they can't. Cas is dead.

"Don't say that." The voice breaks. "Don't say that."

Cas is dead.

Dean shivers. The voice doesn't speak up again. Instead, the hands are back on his arms and soles, trying to keep him warm, and Dean drifts off again.

**~o~**

When Dean wakes up properly and stops muttering and dreaming about Cas, he and Sam vacate the temporary spot behind a rock near the river where they'd been waiting for Dean to recover. They were there for two days and Sam kept watch day and night when Dean was semi-conscious, and it looks like Crowley is either convinced they're dead, or he doesn't care anymore.

"I went looking for him as far as I could," Sam tells Dean. "I did, I promise. I couldn't leave you alone too long."

"Let's keep walking." Dean's throat is sore and hoarse.

Sam doesn't reply.

They walk for three days. They have to be on constant alert, in case Crowley tries to get to them again. Sam's almost passing out from exhaustion by the end of it. Dean agrees to wait and camp out so Sam can sleep and stays awake himself because he doesn't want to dream about Cas again. The next day, when they walk further, they see a familiar object lying on the shore. Dean recognises it and rushes forward.

It's Cas's trenchcoat. Wet and bloodied and torn, it sits near a rock and Dean picks it up and holds it to his face, smelling Cas's familiar scent as he shuts his eyes. "Where are you?" he asks, his voice a whisper and the question dispersing into thin air.

There is no reply.

A week later, there's still no Cas, but they manage to break into a Gas n' Sip just outside a ghetto in the middle of the night. They stuff their faces with whatever they can find and Sam makes a call to Bobby.

Dean watches his brother as he reveals their location, and then the silence from Sam's side as Bobby speaks. By the end of it he can see relief on Sam's face. So much relief, there are tears trailing down Sam's cheeks and the moment he puts the phone down, Dean walks forward and lets his brother rest his forehead against his temple.

"It's okay," Dean tells him, just like Cas did at Hell, and like the times that Sam detoxed and panicked. "It's okay."

Dean's not sure he believes this himself.

When Charlie and Jo arrive, Sam and Dean hug them tightly, and they spend two more days looking for Cas. When they don't find him, Charlie takes Dean aside and holds his forearms, squeezing them. "Bobby's gonna send some of the better hunters to look for him. But we need to get back to the bunker, Dean."

"He's my husband, Charlie, I can't—" Dean's voice is stuck in his throat, and he blinks. He's not allowed himself to grieve, and he's tried not to feel. He has to stay strong. He needs to do it. For Sammy and for himself.

Charlie pulls him into a hug. "You need to rest," she whispers. "We all do. It's been a hard few days and I know… I know…"

"You don't."

She pulls away, cups his cheek. "Okay, maybe I don't. But have you thought of Sam? You need to do this for him."

Sam's fatigued beyond imagination, hardly staying awake these days and Dean thinks of his brother. His brother, who's lost too much, and who knows exactly what this feels like. His brother, who needs to go back home and rest and be taken care of.

Dean leans forward, buries his lips in Charlie's hair. "Let's go back," he mutters, holding her close. "For Sammy."

They leave that night in Charlie's car. Bobby's promised to send a team for Cas and the Impala, and Dean sits with Sam in the backseat, watching his brother lean against the window as he sleeps. He keeps watching, Sam's peaceful slumber filling Dean with calm, and when Sam opens his eyes, Dean just smiles at Sam's confused expression.

After dinner, he puts a hand on Sam's back while Charlie and Jo go to take a pee break. "Sam," he says, looking into his brother's eyes, really speaking to him for the first time in days. "Sammy, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Jess."

Sam takes a deep breath, turns away. "I'm sorry about Cas," he whispers back. Dean just nods, eyes prickling, until his brother is looking back at him, his own eyes wet. Because they know, they both _know_ , and they wish, they _wish_ they didn't.

Sam takes a step forward, pulls Dean into a hug. Dean returns it, sniffling through traitorous tears, and he thinks of the one precious thing he still has. The one thing Azazel could never take away from him no matter how hard he tried, and he holds on to this precious thing of his for a long, long time.

They hold on as Charlie and Jo come back and then for long after.


	13. Epilogue: When their World Broke, They Still Wished Upon a Star

 

"So there's Lilith, Crowley, and Alastair."

"We've talked about this a million times, Sammy."

"I know. I just… we can kill them, Dean."

Dean takes a sip of his beer and looks up at the sky above them. It's a clear evening and the stars are bright, twinkling and sparkling in their blanket of velvety blue. The Impala is cool and majestic under him and he has his brother by his side as they lounge. It's a comforting, relaxing exercise and Dean finds that he can forget most of the fuck-ups on this planet when he's with his brother like this, on the Impala and under the stars.

However, even then he's missing something huge and he can't bear to think of it, because it hurts. Hurts so much.

They've been back in the bunker for a year, and life is starting to go back to normal, or at least as normal as it can. Except, it _can't_. They've each suffered innumerable ordeals, Sam more than Dean, ever since they left this place the last time, and no one can erase or undo that. It's probably what has brought him and Sam closer than they ever were, Dean thinks.

"Dean?"

He turns to Sam, swallowing. "It's a year today, Sammy."

He knows that Sam knows. Sam's been aware of it all along, which was precisely why he was rambling about demons and Lilith and Alastair. Dean reckons Abaddon is out there, too, somewhere, because he refuses to believe that drowning can kill a demon at all. However, there's no news of her as of now. Maybe she's hiding, biding her time and plotting revenge.

Dean revels in the silence between him and Sam, eyes searching the sky, looking for the one thing that matters to him.

_"And that up there, that star, is called the Evening Star. You can wish upon it."_

_"Really?"_

_"Really, babe."_

_"How?"_

_"Just close your eyes and ask for it."_

Dean shuts his eyes, grips at his beer. He has no idea why he still believes, but he does. Because Sam came back. It took time, but he got his brother back. And later, Cas came back, too. He escaped Naomi's clutches and found them.

So maybe this is how Dean gets Cas back once again. Maybe… maybe…

Bobby's search team had no luck with Cas. All they could bring back was the Impala, and all their things from the cabin. Dean still has Cas's shirts, his trenchcoat, as a reminder that it wasn't all a lie; that as ephemeral as it all was, Dean really did have an angel in his life; that he'd been married to the man he loved beyond anything, and that in those crippling, terrible days, a small ray of hope, little happiness had always been there. He can smell Cas in those things, feel him around, warm and comforting and loving, his embrace always welcoming.

 _Angel_ , Dean had thought every night when Cas lay beside him, when their lips met, when they were tangled together in bed or in the shower or the Impala, Cas trailing kisses down Dean's jaw and neck, or his warm breath against the shell of Dean's ear, and he'd been so lucky, Dean had thought. So lucky. He'd forgotten that it was all going to be temporary, no matter what he did, because that was what his life was meant to be like.

"Dean."

The voice is soft and there is a hand on his shoulder. Dean turns to his brother, who is also eyeing the expanse of the sky before them. "He's out there," Sam whispers. "He's out there and he can hear you. You know that, right?"

And how could Dean forget? He's been wishing ever since he regained consciousness that day at the shore of the river, and every day after. He hopes maybe Cas is listening and is looking for them and the bunker, and is one step closer to finding them and he thinks of this every day and tries to get happy about it. He keeps hoping because that's all he can do.

"I miss him, too," Sam mutters. Dean hears him sniff and reaches out a hand to hold his brother's wrist. He does this whenever he needs to be grounded; whenever he needs to remember that he has Sam, still has him; and on most nights, this is enough to keep the nightmares at bay. "He took real good care of me, you know," Sam continues, "in Hell."

"I know."

"Sometimes he pretended to be you."

"Yeah, he said."

"And remember, Dean? Remember how he got you pie every day? Went shopping just for that?"

Dean snorts. "Idiot."

"He had a crush on you, dude."

Dean leans back against the windshield, taking another sip of his beer. "I don't blame him. Have you seen me?"

"You're an asshole."

"I know." Dean presses his lips together. "Remember how Cas tilted his head when he was confused?"

"Yeah." Sam chuckles. "Yeah, so weird, right?"

"Totally. And dude, his wedding vow. You two morons were totally crying."

"No!"

"Lying bitch." Dean turns around to catch the sparkle in his brother's eyes. "That's what you are."

"You're a stupid jerk."

"Oh, how original."

"I hate you."

"I know you do, Sammy."

Dean is still smiling as he keeps watching the stars, keeps remembering the bright days and cold nights and beautiful sunsets. And Cas and Sam, and embarrassing Sam by pretending to kiss Cas or trying to get his clothes off…

"You loved him." Sam sounds sad and his voice is thick when he speaks.

Dean doesn't look at his brother; just at the stars as he nods. "Guess I needed a reason to marry the dude."

"You still love him." The voice is quieter.

"He's still my husband."

Dean blinks a couple of times, reaches to hold Sam's wrist again. Sam leans back like Dean, against the windshield.

"He loved you too, you know, and still loves you wherever he is."

"And… that's because I'm his husband too," Dean whispers over the tightness in his throat.

"Yeah, and an idiot, too, apparently." Sam nudges him. "I mean, look at you."

Dean tries to snigger, but he can't. Because, yeah, seriously, _look at him_. He's lost everyone he loved, ruined everyone he cares for. How could Cas be such an idiot? Why the hell did he choose this when he could have been alive and safe?

"He chose happiness, Dean," Sam replies as if he knows what Dean's been thinking. "He was happy with you."

And Dean grins then, just a little.

"There's something I wanted to show you," Sam says quietly. "I wanted to… actually, you should have seen it a while ago but I didn't because it's… it's Cas, and…" He purses his lips, rummages through his pockets with his free hand and extracts his phone. Dean doesn't even know why they have those. They don't make phone calls anymore because of Crowley literally being on their asses. It made at least made a little bit of sense at the cabin even if they rarely used them then, either. And Cas's voicemail message was the stupidest. ("You've reached the voicemail of: _I don't understand. Why do you want me to say my name?_ ")

Sam turns to Dean and holds out his phone as he leans back, a video ready to play on it. Dean's heart flutters, hand gripping Sam's wrist tighter when Sam presses 'play'.

"You're… you get upset whenever I mention Cas," Sam says, "and I just wanted you to feel better before you watched this."

Dean wants to yell at Sam then because _feel better_? Feel better and holy fuck _why did you not show me this, Sammy_ , because that's Cas, Cas on the video, adjusting his tie as Sam enters with his phone on video-recording mode. And Dean knows what day it is just from Cas's face.

"The day you two got married," says Sam.

Dean blinks, concentrates on the screen and watches Cas give Sam a small smile. A shy smile. Something Cas rarely does— _did_ —and he's just there, right before Dean, but so far away.

Dean's throat is clogged up.

 _"You wanna say something to Dean?"_ Sam asks Cas in the recording.

Cas is a little flushed at the cheeks and neck and Dean holds back the urge to run, to hide, and not have to face this because he just wants Cas back. Just needs him back now.

 _"I am glad you agreed to marry me, Dean,"_ Cas finally says, voice all strange on the recording, but it's _Cas_.

Sam snorts behind the camera. _"Cas, maybe something a little less formal?"_

Cas's grin widens. _"I love you."_ He waves, lips still stretched wide, eyes still sparkling blue, and as the screen goes blank Dean shudders, pushing Sam's phone away so he can shut his eyes and remember. Remember Cas.

Sam is warm and comforting and brotherly and there. "Dean—"

"Maybe," Dean begins in a quiet voice, as he controls his urge to scream and rip something apart, "maybe if two people pray to him instead of one, he'll actually listen, you know."

The hand that Dean has on Sam's wrist gets enclosed by a large, warm palm. Dean locks eyes with his brother. "I'll pray with you," Sam tells him. "I've prayed every day but we'll try it this way."

Dean nods and shuts his eyes again. He can't say anything else, can't talk. It's too much, all this has been too much for a whole year and Sam's handled too many of Dean's meltdowns for another one to happen right now. Sam is tired. He needs a break. He's healing and he's been hurting the longest time and Dean needs to unburden his brother.

"Hey," says Sam, "you're not a fucking burden, okay, jerk? Just shut up."

Maybe Dean said that out loud, or maybe Sam really does know the shit that goes on in Dean's head. Either way, something falls at ease in Dean's heart at Sam's words, and he tries to breathe deeper. The feel of Sam's hand is warm and Dean's finally a little comfortable, thinking of Cas's blue eyes and ridged lips and wide smile and his hair and his face-tilts and long eyelashes and sharp jaw and just… all of him.

 _Angel_.

Dean takes a deep breath.

_Hey Cas._

He wants to tell Cas that he's okay. That he's safe at the bunker. About Abaddon and about Sam. About how Sam's getting better in the nightmares department, about how he's found someone—Sarah Blake—and it seems to have the potential to be something better. He wants to say so much, talk to Cas about his stupid fucking day while they're in bed together but nothing will ever be enough. Nothing will ever suffice compared to what he had with Cas.

Dean opens his eyes.

_Hey Cas,_

_Where are you? What are you up to? Just come back quick, okay? So much to say to you, man._

He takes a deep breath.

_You're fucking sexy, and you're fucking mine, and I wanna be with you and make the other chicks and the dudes jealous._

_You remember that? Of course you do. Your memory was an unnecessary piece of crap just to make me feel terrible about mine. But you thought I wouldn't remember my wedding vow, didn't you? You're so wrong, dude._

_So you come back, okay? Quick. I don't wanna wait until I get all wrinkly-assed, but hey, if that's your jam, then I will._

… _Dude, I'm just kidding. I gotta be a fucking saint for this, but I'll wait, okay? 'Til you get tired of hiding. Until I get all curmudgeon like Bobby—'cause have you seen that guy?_

Dean's eyes are prickling and he heaves in another breath, sniffling. Sam's arm is around him, and Dean leans into his brother, blinking back the tears.

_Cas, it's been a year, but I still feel the same, okay? So just come back. Because… dude, I love the motherfucking fuck out of you and you gotta get your ass back here and I ain't giving up until you do that._

_You get me?_

_Yeah, I think you do. I really think you do._

 

**The End**


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